Chapter Text
The fluorescent light of Principal Nomura's office casts a harsh, sterile glow on the scuffed toes of Yuuji's sneakers.
He can feel the principal’s eyes on him, but he can't bring himself to look up. His gaze is fixed on his own knuckles, bruised and scraped, still throbbing from pummeling against Hayashi's face. He'd landed some good punches, for all the good it's done him. It'd been all over the moment that idiotic, mountain of a brute had pinned him against the ground.
Yuuji had lost. He can't believe he'd lost.
He is strong, he’d always been strong, but in the end it hadn't mattered. The larger boy had overwhelmed him with sheer size and force, and Yuuji can't stop the sickening swirl of surprise and shame that twist in his gut.
For a whole week he'd been trying to keep himself in check. For a whole week he'd struggled not to rise to the taunts and sneers. Then that lumbering oaf had spat in his tea, burst out laughing when Yuuji'd made a disgusted face.
Oh, are you gonna go cry to your mama, Itadori? Ops, sorry...forgot you don't have one.
The rest is sort of a blur of blind rage and pent up, festering frustration. Yuuji doesn't remember deciding to punch him but he remembers the burst of pain in his knuckles on impact, the satisfying yet sickening crunch that had followed.
It had taken two teachers and two upperclassmen to pull them apart.
"... a blatant disregard for school policy, an unprovoked attack that-" The even, monotonous drone of the principle's voice barely even registers with Yuuji, that is until he is cut off by a low rasp.
"Far from unprovoked."
Yuuji's head snaps up so harshly he nearly gets a twinge in his neck. It's the first time his father has spoken since being called in from work. He'd refused Nomura-san's invitation to sit, choosing to stand by the chair Yuuji has hunched up in. He's a large man, towering over both Yuuji and the principle, broad shoulders straining the fabric of his white happi as he crosses his arms over his chest. He hasn't even gotten to change out of his uniform before coming from work at the restaurant. Yuuji bows his head lower.
"Ryoumen-san, your son instigated this fight."
"And he just told you that this boy goaded and teased him for a week."
"We have witnesses who say that-"
"Are you calling my son a liar?" It comes out as a low rumble and Yuuji finally dares raise his head in time to see the principle's mouth snap shut, pudgy, round face paling. His father's hand rests heavy and warm on the back of his neck, thumb stroking absently at the short hair of his undercut and Yuuji lets out a small sigh, swallows thickly as the silence stretches and no answer comes from Nomura-san.
"Go wait for me in the car, Yuuji." His father says evenly as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his car keys. He lets them fall into Yuuji's shaky hands, who nearly fumbles and drops them on the floor. "I'd like to have a word in private with your principle."
For a moment the silence is absolute, permeating. Then Yuuji pushes his chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the floor and gets up.
"Goodbye, Nomura-san." He mumbles as he gives a half-hearted bow of acknowledgement he gets no reply to before slipping out of the room.
He stews in his own anxiety, quietly huddled into the passenger seat of the car for about 20 minutes before his father joins him.
The car ride home is dead silent and Yuuji fidgets in his seat for the whole duration of it, too nervous to even ask if he's been suspended from school or worse, expelled.
His father does not speak a word to him. They make it home in utter, unbearable silence. Yuuji just sits at the kitchen table, trailing his father's every movement as Sukuna prepares dinner. It is when a bowl of perfectly cooked, steaming miso hoikoro pork stir fry is placed before him that Yuuji can't take it anymore.
"Aren't you going to shout at me? Punish me?" Yuuji askes, brows knitting together, hands clasped in his lap, not even touching his chopsticks, despite his stomach rumbling loud enough to be heard.
"No." His father says calmly. Yuuji watches him pick a piece of pork from his own bowl and blow on it gently before bringing it to his mouth.
"But I-"
"Made the mistake of thinking you can win against a much larger boy using brute force."
"He was big and stupid-"
"And stronger."
"I can hold my own, Dad." Yuuji says, eyes narrowing, nearly offended at this point. He watches Sukuna lean back in his chair, chew the bite he's taken slowly before answering.
"Never said you can't. But you lack refinement and technique."
Yuuji frowns, crosses his arms over his chest as he lifts an eyebrow.
"It was a schoolyard brawl not a fight to the death."
"Some day it might be." His father says firmly, jaw tightening as he meets Yuuji's eyes. There is something swirling in his crimson gaze, the dregs of bitter experience Yuuji knows he'd never allow himself to share.
For a moment Yuuji is speechless. He even tries to read in his father's expression if he's actually joking.
Sukuna looks dead serious.
"I have enough extracurriculars as it is. I can't pick up anymore classes." Yuuji says as he takes a bite of his dinner, tries to deflect the topic, not really wanting to end up signed up for a dojo of all things. This is blowing things out of proportion. An absolute overkill. He'd rather take part in his manga club or go to the movies with Nobara and Megumi than spend his evenings being slammed against musty tatami matts.
"I'll teach you."
For a moment he barely manages to suppress the urge to scoff, makes a valiant effort of swallowing his food without choking. The thing is, his father might be large and look intimidating, he might still keep in good shape for his age but he is also a chef in a restaurant. He stirs pots and chops vegetables all day long. He wears glasses when he sits down to read for fuck's sake.
"You?"
"Don't look so skeptical. I got into different styles of martial arts when I was your age. I had a couple of good years."
"Different styles? Like what?"
"Jujutsu. A little bit of Judo, a little bit of Brazilian Jujutsu."
"And you never thought to mention that? Like ever?"
"You never asked." Sukuna says with a mild twitch of his brow as he finishes his dinner and sets his chopsticks down.
This time Yuuji does scoff, brows furrowing in annoyance and skepticism.
"Yeah, sure. Whatever."
It starts as a weekly session, at least that seems to be Sukuna's initial plan. He just pushes all the boxes in the loft to the edges of the room and lays matts on the floor.
Yuuji is cocky. He knows how to hold his ground and he's also annoyed by the fact that his father now thinks he's weak and incapable of defending himself. It was one fight. He'd lost one fight to an absolute brute and now Sukuna feels the need to teach him technique and refinement.
Not to mention he still doesn't buy the martial arts background his father claims. For as long as Yuuji can remember he's never seen his father fight anyone or even enter a dojo. He'd done construction work when Yuuji was in kindergarten, then some odd jobs as a delivery man or a driver until he'd started working in a kitchen, then worked his way up to a chef. It had been at small restaurants at first, until he landed his current and much better paid job in a renowned, highly rated restaurant in Ginza.
Yes, Sukuna works out. He goes to the gym, he's really good on the basketball court, but he also routinely falls asleep on the couch by 9 while watching cooking shows.
15 minutes into their very first sparring session it turns out that Yuuji has been wrong.
So very wrong.
His father wipes the floor with him. He also makes a point of not using brute force or the fact that he's physically more powerful than Yuuji. He just deflects every attack as fluidly as a man half his size, he turns Yuuji's movements against him with barely any pressure or effort.
His father barely breaks a sweat and Yuuji...well, Yuuji loses count of how many times he gets slammed against the matt. By the time Sukuna takes pity on him and considers the first session complete Yuuji is red-faced, wheezing and aching all over and his father just looks at him with a look of something between amusement and mild disappointment.
"Seems like we'll have more work to do than I thought."
Yuuji merely glares at him, trying to catch his breath as sweat drips down his brow.
"Once a week won't cut it, son."
Yuuji just groans, curling into little ball of defeat on the matt.
As their sessions advance they gain a rhythm. Sukuna shows him foot work, adequate and efficient techniques to dodge and block, ways to use his opponent's weight and momentum to his advantage.
It is when the submission techniques and ground work instruction starts that things shift, gain a new unfamiliar and thrilling dimension.
It's been building up for weeks, Yuuji later realizes, the adrenaline rush, the mad coursing of blood in his ears, the wild racing of his heart whenever he performs a good throw or lands a kick just right.
Good boy, Yuuji. Well done.
Yuuji starts looking forward to their sessions. He even goes as far as to cancel plans with friends so he can stay home and practice Jujutsu with his father.
More often than not, his whole body is covered in bruises in various degrees of recovery, muscles sore and aching.
It's a good ache, he discovers. Yuuji quickly grows to love it, look forward to it even.
Now when he lies awake at night, curled up under the covers despite the summer heat, Yuuji runs shaky fingertips over his bruises.
Over the old and the new ones. He explores the different degrees of sensation, finds himself relishing the sweet, compelling sting of it, the heat that curls in the pit of his stomach and shudders down his spine with each press of his fingers.
It is the middle of July and the heat and humidity in the loft are unbearable. They're both dripping with sweat before they've even started and Sukuna wants to call off the session for the day but Yuuji insists they continue. Yuuji says they will be fine as long as they keep it short and drink a lot of water, so his father relents.
Sukuna is showing him how to do a Rear Naked Choke, one of the most effective techniques for any grappler in Brazilian Jujutsu. His muscular arm is wrapped around Yuuji's neck from behind, hot breath in his ear as he explains the way it works.
"This is a blood choke technique. It restricts blood flow from the heart to the brain." Sukuna whispers in a steady voice in his ear. "If sustained for long enough it results in loss of consciousness."
Yuuji hums, goes to nod instinctively only to realize his chin won't move an inch from where it's digging into his father's arm. He's only half listening. Sukuna feels impossibly large, solid as a rock behind him, chest muscles rippling against Yuuji's back. He is like a furnace, hot and overwhelming, burning up Yuuji's skin wherever they touch, the thin shirts they're wearing clinging wetly with sweat. It should feel uncomfortable but it doesn't. When strong fingers curl into Yuuji's shoulder he bites at his lip, eyelashes fluttering when he feels heat, slow and painfully, atrociously familiar stirring between his thighs.
Colour rises to his cheeks and then his father speaks up again, his voice a low rumble, Yuuji more feels than hears, vibrate against his back.
"I'm going to apply pressure now." Sukuna whispers and his breath stirs the fine hairs on Yuuji's nape. "I want you to tap out when you start feeling lightheaded, alright?"
Yuuji is so focused on keeping his knees together and not moving too much he fails to answer.
"Brat, are you even listening to me?"
"Yes, dad." He mumbles, fidgets ever so slightly and Sukuna grunts in affirmation.
When his father squeezes Yuuji's body goes completely slack in his grip. It's like flipping a switch, if anyone else but Sukuna was doing this to him it would be positively terrifying. Yuuji tries to keep his eyes open at first but the rush is too overwhelming. He can feel his heart pound in his temples, loud and acute, like a heavy drum, faster and faster. He takes a deep breath in, which only results in his father's arm curling in tighter, exploiting the give.
His fingers twitch convulsively against his thigh. The thought of tapping out is fleeting, it comes for barely a second and passes just as quickly, drowned by the mad rush of blood in his ears. It's exhilarating in a way he has never experienced before. It feels like a door cracking open, an opening to a place unknown, unexplored but so very compelling. Yuuji feels weightless, immaterial and for a passing seconds bright stars twirl behind his eyelids.
Then everything goes black.
He comes to his father's fingers pressing to the side of his neck, seeking for his pulse, he comes to a large hand cradling his nape protectively from the floor and the sound of his own name. Sukuna is talking to him but Yuuji does not register the words, his ears are still ringing slightly and his head feels like it's stuffed with cotton. The world wavers back into focus in broken pieces... the way the sun hits the ceiling above in an elongated triangle of light, like the sail of a boat, the way Sukuna's dark blue shirt looks almost black now, clinging with sweat against his chest, the worried crease in his father's brow, a sight Yuuji rarely sees.
Yuuji's is pulled into sitting position now, a bottle of water is pushed into his hands and he takes a small sip, then another, eyes sliding shut with the sensation of coolness sluicing down his throat.
"You scared the fuck out of me, Yuuji."
This does register but more for the large hand cupping his jaw, the way those crimson eyes look at him so intensely, so filled with worry and concern.
"I'm fine, dad... it's the heat." It comes out weak, raspy, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.
Sukuna pulls away, runs a weary hand through his hair, pushes the damp strands away from his face. There's perspiration dripping down his temples and thick neck, plastering his shirt to his chest and stomach and when he pulls the bottom of it up to wipe his sweaty face Yuuji finds himself unable to look away.
His father has never taken his shirt off in his presence before.
Throughout the years Yuuji has had glimpses of the tattoos adorning his skin. It's not something Sukuna flaunts and for all the times Yuuji's asked about them before he's never received a definitive answer.
Sukuna has called them remnants of a past he would rather not remember.
A past before Yuuji, the thought of which always seems to provoke that far away look in his father's eyes, the barely perceptible tightening of his jaw.
There is a long, pale scar running along Sukuna's side, from armpit to hip, raised and jagged as the root of an ancient tree and Yuuji's eyes trail it with unconcealed curiosity before his father pulls his shirt down again, an unreadable expression crossing his features as he notices him staring.
"That's enough for today. Go shower, brat."
The same night Yuuji cannot seem to fall asleep. He tosses and turns for hours, mind drifting to this afternoon. Before applying the actual chokehold Sukuna had explained to him how it works, long, strong fingers pressing against the sides of Yuuji's neck, cupping his throat.
He'd applied moderate pressure and it had sent Yuuji's heart racing, eyelids growing heavy, colour staining his cheeks.
It blocks the carotid arteries and, if done correctly, it results in loss of consciousness within seconds.
Yuuji had merely nodded, throat going dry, heart jumping in his chest like a trapped rabbit as he had held his father's crimson gaze.
He's lying on his stomach now, cheek smushed against his pillow and before he realizes what he is doing his hips are rolling against the mattress. It feels good, like that unbearable buzz under his skin finally finds a way to converge into something tangible, something he can actually chase, hope to catch the way a dog would hunt a rabbit into the woods. When his hips roll again the motion is deliberate, it's a forbidden warmth, a feeling he shouldn't be pursuing but he's unable to help himself. A low, soft sound escapes his lips as the friction builds, a familiar ache of longing and release, the thin shorts he's wearing riding up his thighs, clinging with sweat.
When his fingers find their way to his own throat he can hear his father's steady voice again, recall the pressure and sureness of that one single, large hand. His own grip feels inadequate, not enough. His hand is too small to envelop his neck properly, he struggles finding the right pressure and angle.
Yuuji had seen stars when his father had done it, felt his blood rush like never before. He'd been completely overwhelmed, all control taken away from him and it had felt exhilarating. He hadn't felt scared, not even for a second. It had been thrilling, a sweet surrender, a drop into an endless moment where nothing mattered and everything was soft and immaterial.
There is a wet spot on his pillowcase now from where he's panting open-mouthed into it. Yuuji is rutting against the mattress, pent up and graceless, the sheets bunching up, tangling around his legs. He's so unbearably, achingly hard, so wet in his shorts he can feel it soak through the thin fabric onto the bedding below.
His fingers press against the sides of his neck harshly, a breathy little whimper leaving his lips when the image of his father from this afternoon surfaces in his mind with jarring clarity.
The corded muscle of his arms, the stark outlines of the tattoos he had always kept deliberately concealed under clothes, the way his skin had glistened with perspiration in the subdued sunlight, the rough quality of his voice, the scar running along his-
Yuuji's orgasm strikes sudden and unexpected. Like a punch to the gut. He comes with a strangled cry, nearly choking on his own spit. His fingers twist rigidly in the sheets as his hips twitch convulsively against the mattress a couple of more times before they still. Light motes are dancing before his vision as he just lies there on his stomach, teeth clenched into his crumpled pillowcase. His hand leaves his throat shakily and he gasps for air, mind reeling with the realization of what he's just done.
For a moment he doesn't move, just listens to his own ragged breathing, loud and obnoxious in the perfect silence of his room.
The high slowly drains from his body, replaced by a lingering sense of guilt and an undeniable truth. He realizes he wants to feel that way again even though he knows he shouldn't.
Yuuji wants his father's hands on him, wants to be on the edge of that blissful, terrifying darkness again. The thought both horrifies and beckons him, to the point he makes a promise to himself to hold firm against the compulsion, to never do it again.
He lasts two days.
Nearly three, if you count the hours spent tossing and turning in bed on the second night before he actually gives in. Then he ends up curled up against the headboard, fingers around his own throat and a pillow clenched between his thighs.
The sparring sessions in the loft continue and now they only feed his little fixation.
It does not take long for him to realize he can't reach orgasm without pressure around his throat now, without the thought of Sukuna doing this to him, his father's large hand enveloping his throat so perfectly, making stars burst behind his eyelids.
Yuuji becomes preoccupied with how he looks before their sparring sessions. What he's wearing, what his hair looks like and whether he smells good.
He chooses his loosest basketball shorts, sometimes even sweatpants, hoping to conceal the reactions of his body he is now helpless to contain.
He showers before they spar and procrastinates doing it for as long as possible after, even when his father scolds him for it.
Yuuji just likes the smell of Sukuna on him, the lingering heat and sensation of his father's fingers on his skin.
It slowly but surely crests into an obsession. Virtually the only thing he seems to be able to focus on.
After every single sparring session he needs to rush to his room now, all worked up and sweaty, only to find release within seconds, coming into his own hand to the thought of Sukuna pinning him down, choking the breath out of him.
His neck is permanently adorned with bruises. It gets suspicious, and it raises quite a few eyebrows, prompts stares and uncomfortable questions from his father.
Sukuna has been trying to be gentler since that first blackout, always asking him for confirmation and reassurance to make sure Yuuji's alright.
Gentle doesn't seem to do it for Yuuji, though.
Not anymore.
Yuuji becomes progressively rougher with himself.
He's clumsy and uncoordinated in his eagerness and impatience. Too desperate for the real thing, to the point he now has to come up with ways to cover up his neck.
It is when Sukuna has to work an extra shift on Saturday and cancels their session for the week that Yuuji resorts to using a belt.
He actually blacks out, regains consciousness with a painful gasp only to realize he'd overdone it this time. He'd have to wear a turtleneck after this one, the angry welt around his throat unmistakable.
Sukuna is worried. The change in his son's behaviour has not gone unnoticed and while Yuuji has been adamant about no one bothering him at school or on his now progressively rarer times out with friends, he knows something is different, wrong in a way he cannot put his finger on.
He'd notices Yuuji wearing a turtleneck the previous day despite the unbearable summer heat and that has only caused his concerns to solidify into suspicion.
He makes an effort to come back home earlier on the following day, maybe speak to Yuuji without pressuring him. He just wants to help, resolve whatever seems to be bothering his son.
Sukuna drops his keys on the shoe cabinet in the genkan as he enters home, he calls for Yuuji as he usually does only to receive no answer.
He is not sure what compels him to do so but he makes sure he is quiet as he climbs up the stairs. It's strange, he'd never felt the need to sneak up on his son before.
He finds the door to Yuuji's room slightly ajar, he's just about to knock on the frame and announce his presence when he hears it.
Small gasps and breathy whimpers. Distressed and pent up, like Yuuji's in pain.
He's about to push the door open but what he sees through the crack stops him dead in his tracks.
His son is tangled in the sheets, wearing only a loose white tank top, the thin fabric clinging to his skin with perspiration. Yuuji has one hand wrapped around his own throat, fingers white knuckled, pressing in urgently.
His other hand is moving along his hard cock in harsh, aborted movements. It looks almost violent, like it's simultaneously too much and not enough.
There are tears rolling down Yuuji's cheeks, hot and glistening against flushed cheeks.
The sounds he's making...Yuuji sounds like he is dying.
Sukuna is speechless. Completely rooted on the spot.
It is the last thing he'd even imagined he would see.
He'd been so worried about Yuuji recently, so desperate to find out what was wrong, what bothered his son.
Then Yuuji manages to make it worse.
Before Sukuna can react of step in Yuuji thrusts in his own hand one more time. His tan thighs strain, fingers glistening with pre-come, bitten lips falling open on a choked out breath.
"Daddy....daddy please-" It comes out as a sob, high and shivery. It feels like a red hot rod pushing straight through Sukuna's chest.
Yuuji comes into his own hand, spilling hot and copious and Sukuna watches it drip heavy, viscous down his fingers and the dip of his hipbone, his toes curling in the rumpled sheets.