Work Text:
song reference – young god by halsey
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There’s something wrong with Sukuna, Itadori thinks. It’s a strange image, and even harder to digest. The back of his neck prickles, uneasy. He’s never seen the King of Curses so—so docile. No—that’s not entirely correct. He’s … appeased. Placated by your presence.
But the slow pulse of power rolling from his form is a silent reminder he’s nothing short of deadly. He’s only regained a fraction of his power, and yet he’s outstripped them in every manner possible. Gojo-sensei might really be their only hope.
Well … now Itadori isn’t so sure.
Because you’re curled up in an armchair, reading a book, and Sukuna—Sukuna is on sitting on the ground, head resting on your lap with his eyes closed. Like a fucking cat. A tiger, maybe, Itadori corrects himself quickly, flinching when a lone bone rattles its way down the curse’s cerebral throne, a really really big and scary tiger.
Don’t test me, brat, Sukuna says, eyes still closed. Dark amusement laces his tone.
We’re fucked, Itadori thinks.
Sukuna’s chuckle is haunting in his internal domain.
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He says, “Oh, baby girl, you know we’re gonna be legends
I’m the king and you're the queen and we will stumble through heaven
If there’s a light at the end, it’s just the sun in your eyes
I know you wanna go to heaven but you’re human tonight”
Itadori learns the truth when you come streaking across the sky in a golden arc.
The light is blinding and the curse he’s been fighting is exorcised with an agonizing shriek. It’s just him, separated from his team during a mission. His heart flutters in his throat when the glow fades and he sees you.
“Hello. You must be Sukuna’s vessel.”
Itadori opens his mouth, probably to say something dumb like holy shit you’re so pretty, but his consciousness is rudely shoved out before he gets a chance.
“Took you long enough,” Sukuna rumbles. His grin is wicked and dark and he beckons you forward.
“Well,” you say, taking his hand, “I wasn’t the one cut up and scattered across the world as fingers.”
“Powerful fingers,” he smirks. And Itadori is dumfounded. Who—what the hell is going on? Why are you two speaking like old friends? More importantly—Sukuna has friends? Is the world ending? Is money falling from the sky? Nope, he checked. And who are you? You’re not dead yet, so Itadori assumes Sukuna finds you interesting enough not to behead on the spot.
“She’s my Queen, brat,” he drawls. He lifts your hand to his mouth, lips fasting over your ring finger and biting down. Crimson irises expanding at the taste of your blood flooding his senses. It’s euphoric, his markings darkening, the pleasure so palpable that even Itadori flushes, nerves alight with heat. They share the same body, so the chemistry reaction remains potent even without his control.
As delectable as you were centuries ago, before the fall. Sukuna licks the wound close, and you smile at him.
The Curse of Reincarnation, you call it. Not a curse, but a sorcerer with a curse.
Sukuna knew. And he was waiting for you.
Itadori vaguely wonders if the King of Curses had also known all along it would end this way.
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But do you feel like a young God?
You know the two of us are just young Gods
“He gave it to you, didn’t he?” Itadori says. He’s exhausted, sprawled on the grass in an open field and you’re seated next to him, having barely broken a sweat.
He gratefully accepts your proffered bottle of water.
They’re letting you live, too. Just like him. Because you’re useful. Because you’re leverage against the curse within. But they don’t know what he knows. They don’t know that Sukuna isn’t the one in control. You are.
And you’re infinitely more dangerous than the King of Curses.
And, on top of that, it’s not just Sukuna you know.
Gojo-sensei, who took one look at you, pulling down his blindfold to peer at you with those piercing sky-blue eyes of his, and he grinned.
“Welcome back, princess.”
Itadori swears he pulled his jaw that day with how hard it dropped at the sight of you throwing your arms around the strongest sorcerer of possibly the entire history of sorcery. And the white-haired man lets you. He drops his Infinity, and he lets you touch him.
Itadori’s heart thunders in his ears, half expecting his sensei to be ripped apart in the next second despite his title and power.
But you only beam at him—oh, he thinks, again, like a broken record, because he can’t help it, your smile, it’s just so pretty—delightfully exclaiming, “Oh, Satoru, it’s been so long. How’s the teaching life?”
Itadori’s eyes bug out. S-Satoru? What in the—
Nope, no money falling from the sky. He’s a little disappointed.
“Sensei. I didn’t know you were back already.”
And now Itadori’s ready to blow a casket. What is going on? His head whips side to side as he splutters, watching Fushiguro greet you casually as he walks up.
“F-Fushiguro? You know her?”
His dark-haired friend nods. “Oh, yeah. Forgot you haven’t met her yet. Sensei was on a mission. She and Gojo-sensei are supposed to train us.”
“Undercover,” you chime in cheerfully. “Took longer than expected.”
“That’s because you wiped out their entire base,” Fushiguro says dryly. Gojo-sensei chuckles. “Atta girl.”
What in the—
Kugisaki decides to appear at this impromptu time. “Hey! Guys!” She yells, waving her hand.
“Sorry I’m late,” she pants, doubling over. “Over—huff—slept.”
“Oh hey! Sensei, you’re finally back,” she exclaims, and Itadori is seconds away from flattening into a paper sill and floating to the ground when you hug her tightly. “Nobara! You’ve grown.”
The pink-haired boy melts into the ground, unblinking in shock. Faintly, he can hear Sukuna’s snickers echo in the back of his mind.
So you and Gojo-sensei agree to split first-year training.
“Yes,” you say now. “My life is tied with his. So long some part of him lives, so will I. And we’re bound to each other, so he’ll always find me.”
“Are you in love?” Itadori asks. He should be afraid, he thinks, but he’s not. Your presence is comforting, and it makes him feel warm. Safe.
You look thoughtful. “I think that we were drawn to each other, and that the time we had, although short, was enough to make us want more.”
“But you were separated in every life, right?”
Itadori props himself up, watching as you unfold a blanket, patting the area before starting to unpack lunch. You make lunch. Good lunch. Itadori really likes you.
“Yes.” You hand him a box. He stares at the cute little octopus you cut out for him.
“That sounds a lot like love to me,” Itadori says quietly, picking up the octopus with his chopsticks.
He says, "Oh, baby girl, don't get cut on my edges
I'm the king of everything and oh, my tongue is a weapon”
You place a tamagoyaki into his box.
“Yes,” you reply. “It does, doesn’t it?”
You don’t say anymore, just smile at him before waving over the other body flopped on the opposite side. The dark-haired sorcerer groans, crack audible when he sits up to stretch.
“Megumi. It’s time for lunch.” Fushiguro takes a seat next to you silently, murmuring his thanks as you give him an identical bento box.
Fushiguro’s mouth lifts when he takes a bite.
“It’s good,” is all he says.
You ruffle his hair. “I’m glad.” Itadori thinks he shouldn’t be surprised anymore when Fushiguro’s half-smile doesn’t drop as it usually does.
“Sukuna.”
You prod at Itadori’s open palm. The pink-haired boy squints at it dubiously, eyes widening when a familiar mouth forms, opening reluctantly.
You feed him an onigiri, and Sukuna swallows obediently, licking at your fingers playfully for a moment before disappearing.
Itadori whips his head around to his classmate, wondering if his sorcerer friend is just as astonished, only to find Fushiguro unperturbed, scrolling through his phone as he eats.
Where’s the money, he laments as he flops on his back to stare at the sky.
The sky is as cloudless and blue as ever.
Itadori sighs, rolling over before taking another bite from his bento. He tries to be menacing, scowling at the sun.
“Don’t do that, Yuuji. You’ll get wrinkles early.”
He pouts. “Yes, sensei.”
Your smile makes him feel a little warm.
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Sukuna thinks about killing you a lot. Not for the thrill or the raw excitement the hunt usually gives him. Because you tie him down, because no matter how much he pretends, you are a weakness. Not because you’re strong, but because you make him weak.
Weak, because every time you died, he would lose himself for days, months at a time. Lose himself to the blood and carnage, to the rage and fury settled deep within his bonds, lose himself so he wouldn’t have to think, to know a life without you.
But he’s the one that tied you to him. He didn’t ask, didn’t give you a choice.
You weren’t always this powerful.
But you had cursed energy, and that energy accumulated. Then you learned to control it. You refined your technique with every life, memories building until you were everything he hated.
The unintended by-product of his decision.
Eventually, he stopped looking for you. You were always there, a tug somewhere deep inside him. He felt too much for you. He didn’t want it. Thought he left it all behind when he stopped being human.
“Sukuna.”
But you haunted him. Every night, he dreamt of you. Of your laughter and your eyes, your smile and your soul. Some nights, your breathy moans and soft cries of his name.
He was inexplicably drawn to you.
So when you found him in your fifth life, he stopped running.
You’ve had a power over him since.
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He’s not the only one.
Itadori knows Sukuna’s done horrible, horrible things. That he’s a curse without mercy, has doomed thousands, bottomless in his lust for bloodshed and carnage. But he’s irrefutably sad for him. He can’t help it. His compassion is part of who he is, too, after all.
Do curses deserve love? Itadori thinks he’s in too deep.
“Satoru. You’re so spoiled.”
“You love spoiling me.”
Your laughter is faint, muffled by the door. His arms are wrapped around your waist, nosing at your cheeks.
You look happy. He looks happy too, in a way Itadori’s never seen, blindfold crumpled on the edge of the desk. Your hands frame his face, thumbing the corners of his gorgeous eyes. They’re trained on you, drinking you in like a starved man, soft in ways Itadori didn’t think was possible.
When Gojo-sensei dips his head to kiss you, pulling you close, Itadori sinks to the ground, back against the wall. It’s too intimate, a moment he isn’t privy too.
He didn’t think the white-haired sorcerer could be so tender.
His head throbs dully, stomach churning.
The King of Curses is silent within him, though Itadori knows he’s watching.
“I’m sorry,” he says to the empty hallway.
Sukuna doesn’t reply.
Itadori doesn’t throw up, but he comes close.
When he shows up to training, he can’t meet either of your gazes.
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The search for the fingers continue.
Sukuna rarely reappears anymore, even to taunt him in moments of profound weakness. Sometimes Itadori prods his palm just to make sure he isn’t being executed for nothing.
“Brat. Stop it. Your thoughts are loud. And annoying.” His skin splits, Sukuna’s voice piercing and irritated.
“Oh. Sorry. And, um. Sorry about—you know,” Itadori says awkwardly to the mouth.
It downturns. Itadori half expects it to start fading following a very pregnant pause, but Sukuna surprises him when he finally answers, “I knew.”
“You—you knew?” Itadori splutters. “Then why—?”
Sukuna disappears.
Oh. Right.
Itadori looks out the window. The knowledge didn’t make it hurt any less.
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Gojo Satoru is in love.
He loves you in ways he knows he shouldn’t. You’re dangerous, your history and connection with the King of Curses a direct conflict of interest to the world he’s trying to build.
But he loves you anyway. He loves your smile and your spirit and your soul and the way you see him, the real him, not the masks he wears and the layers of Infinity he piles on like physical shields to his psyche.
Contrary to popular belief, he’s not a womanizer. He’s loud and he’s light-hearted, with his god complex and exuberance. He doesn’t let anyone in, builds his walls high and fortified. His abundance of cursed energy and skill means he bears the brunt of responsibility.
He doesn’t know failure, can’t afford to know failure.
Much of it hinges on him.
But you … he loves you because you have no expectations for him. No, that’s not right. He loves you because you found him, lying on the roof of a skyscraper at midnight, rain relentless, the cold sinking into his veins, an unforgiving frost that threatened to freeze him over. It was the first time he felt so utterly drained, exhaustion weighing heavily on his bones.
The rain was harsh, not sleeting but intense, burying the lights of the city. He wished he could turn it off, his legendary six-eyes. He couldn’t, the risk, even with his body and soul suspended in time like this, was too big. His blindfold was plastered to him like a second skin.
He heard the sound of footsteps, muted in the torrent of nature. He could sense the cursed energy, though the killing intent was absent. He grimaced, dragging himself up, propping himself up against the railing, one arm over his leg. He ran a hand through his hair.
“Today’s kind of a bad day. Do you mind if we do a rain check?”
Plip. Plip. Plip. Water dripped down his rain-slicked locks. He managed a half-grin, peering up at the newcomer. He barely had glimpse before—
Ah. He flinched when arms came around him. You were a stranger, but you were so warm and smelled so good. Maybe it was because he was so tired. So weary.
He leaned against you. His lips touched your jaw, but you didn’t recoil despite the chill of his cold skin.
He could no longer tell if the water sliding down his cheeks were from the rain.
“Please tell me your name,” he whispered against your skin.
You only smiled, and he stared up at you, entranced. You helped him up, led him to your home. He followed willingly, fingers laced through yours. The heat of the touch slowly warming his body once more.
He stood at the entrance, water pooling at his feet, and watched you shrug off your rain-soaked jacket. He should ask questions, he noted sluggishly. But he was tired. So, so tired.
Then you took his hand again, beckoning him forward, so he toed off his shoes and trailed after you.
A bathroom. You started the water, test the temperature, and turned to help him shed his uniform. Pull off his blindfold, tossing it onto the pile. He blinked, the soft light of the room obnoxiously bright. His teeth chattered. He should be weirded out, on high alert, maybe with a little bravado or abashment, he acknowledged, but he was only numb and lethargic.
“I like your hair.”
Gojo startled, water splashing over the edge as he sat up in the tub. You were kneeling next to him, smiling.
He liked your voice.
“May I wash it?”
“Yeah,” he breathed. He sunk down once more, and you began working with his silky locks.
The shampoo smelled nice.
He smelled like you now.
He liked that, too.
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Gojo loves you because you caught him when he fell, taught him to sleep when he was tired, to rest when he was weary, to cry when he was sad. To open up when he was about to burst.
To be vulnerable, to be human.
He turned his head to look at you. His silver locks were fluffy and he was warm and comfortable, the bed soft and clothing dry.
He blinked slowly, drowsy. “Won’t you tell me your name?” He slurs, smile lopsided.
The mattress dipped, you perched at the edge. You leaned down, and Gojo didn’t bother pretending he didn’t nuzzle your neck, inhaling deeply, when you brushed a kiss to his forehead.
You murmur, “My name is—”
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Oh, Itadori realizes one day, watching your sleeve fall in slow motion one morning as you gestured at the blackboard behind you. The blood ring.
You had two.
He swallows.
Somewhere in the back of his head, he hears Sukuna chuckle darkly. You should see your face, brat.
When the dust settles, the only thing they’ll see is you. Sukuna’s cackling grows louder.
Itadori doesn’t know whether to be terrified or awed.
Sukuna knew. Gojo-sensei knew.
Did you?
You spot his dumbfounded look and smile that familiar smile.
“Any questions, Yuuji?”
His own smile is stiff on his lips. “No, sensei.”
Sukuna’s outright roaring with laughter now.
Your kindness will be your downfall, the King of Curses taunts. Itadori’s pencil snaps.
And just like that, he hopes they find the remaining fingers soon.
If there’s a light at the end, it’s just the sun in your eyes
I know you wanna go to heaven but you’re human tonight