Chapter Text
We’ll be able to see something interesting—didn’t I say that, brat?
Fushiguro…?
A fist in his gut. Shockwaves of hurt.
A hot howling, skin to bone.
Steel and concrete shatter against his body, trying to break it.
It doesn’t.
But his chest feels shattered, layers of meat peeled away to expose a numb, aching pulse to the—
“Fushi…guro…”
—unfamiliar ceiling, something beige and bland with a dark fan motionless in the middle.
Where is he—
The memories come in a rush.
Kurusu plummeting, a sick splattering sound ringing in his ears. Maki, serene and lethal and still not enough.
Himself, still not enough.
And Fushiguro, with dark marks and cruel eyes and sneering lips that don’t belong on his delicate features.
Yuuji remembers.
And then—
There was a person, the white-haired monk from Shibuya. There was ice.
He broke free—right into clawed hands and bared teeth, looming close.
There was no fight then, only darkness.
He doesn’t remember thinking anything, only feeling. Anger, black and choking. Worse than Junpei. Worse than Shibuya.
Worse than any love he’s felt.
He doesn’t remember thinking, but it’s not the kind of sleep he’d have expected to wake up from.
Better he didn’t think. Nothing kinder lurks under the anger.
He’s awake now, in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. He turns his head, and there’s a window, boarded shut. There’s blood splatter on the boards—human red.
Yuuji stares at those for a long time.
He has to—
He needs to—
He can’t move.
It’s the arms that clue him in. They’re bound above him, something thin and soft wound all around them from shoulders to wrists, and when he cranes his head back to look at them, he’s not surprised to find that the bindings are ink-and-paper seals. They look deceptively fragile, but Yuuji can’t even twitch his arms.
He’s felt this before. Something like this. That day in the isolation chamber, straining against thick ropes that held fast the way normal rope wouldn’t have. He asked Gojou about it later and was told they were cursed objects—roped imbued with a sorcerer’s cursed energy, only as strong as the sorcerer themselves. That day, it’d been Gojou’s power holding Yuuji hostage.
This still feels different. He could strain against those ropes. He could pull and pull, until they bit into his skin. He can’t do that now. He tries to move his fingers. Nothing, just a pulsing mass of pain where his left pinkie was. He can feel his arms, but they feel…distant. Like they don’t belong to him.
He looks down at himself.
He’s naked. There are more seals. A single one is plastered to his stomach, right over his belly button. His cursed energy pool feels even more distant than his bound arms. More seals are wrapped around his legs, from knees to ankles. He tries to flex them; the muscles don’t respond. His toes seem to mock him.
“Come on,” he rasps. His throat hurts; his mouth is dry. “Come on, move.”
They don’t move.
And the longer Yuuji’s awake, the more aware he becomes of what the seals are doing to him. They feel alive, something warm and slimy writhing against his skin. Cursed energy, but twisted—worse than Sukuna’s miasmic aura, worse even than the oppressive presence of the person who took Gojou away.
It’s taking something from him, suckling tendrils digging around inside him to keep him like this, still and weak and powerless—
Sukuna brought him here. Sukuna did this.
“Sukuna,” Yuuji snarls, looking wildly around the room before his eyes catch on the door, plain and painfully normal, and there’s the seething thought that it’s out of place, this whole room with its normal ceiling and fan and bed and shelves and door, and then Yuuji realizes that he’s the one out of place, as much of an intruder as those bloodstains on the boarded window. He breathes in deep, bares his teeth— “Sukuna!”
“Quiet, worm.”
He comes out of nowhere, though he can’t have. Yuuji knows this. Sukuna’s insanely fast, but Yuuji’s spent hours training with Gojou, who’s not only fast but also has no reservations about warping all around Yuuji like a manic pixie—to tease him, mostly, though Gojou always insisted it was very important training, and Yuuji liked him too much to really complain.
Focus.
“Sukuna,” he says. The door is open a crack now. Yuuji stares at it, but all he sees is darkness. “Where the hell am I?”
“Some human fool’s house. Who cares?” Footsteps approach the bed, too deliberately loud for that body. “This is pathetic. Do you think looking away will save you? Save him?”
“Don’t fucking—” Yuuji’s vision fills with dark hair and red eyes—the wrong style, the wrong color, all wrong. Even the shape of Fushiguro’s jaw feels wrong. “You’re disgusting.”
Sukuna rolls his eyes; the expression is unspeakably alien on Fushiguro’s face even though Yuuji’s seen him do it so many times.
“And you’re still so boring. Worse sin, if you ask me.”
Yuuji snarls at him. “Fuck you.”
“Mind your tongue. I might just cut it off.”
“Go right ahead, asshole.” It’s easy to sneer. He tries to make it cocky, the exact kind of smile he’s punched off so many faces, but he’s too angry and too hurt, and it comes out with too much teeth. “Hey, is that why I’m like this—you scared, Sukuna?”
One moment, Sukuna’s by the foot of the bed, and the next, he’s looming over Yuuji, glaring down at him with bloodstained eyes.
Yuuji doesn’t blink, staring fixedly at Sukuna and trying to see that revolting soul and not the shell it’s wearing, and it’s easier than it was when it was Yuuji’s own face haunting his nightmares and waking hours, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy. He knows that face.
He loves that face.
“Impertinent brat,” Sukuna murmurs, and the way he stares down at Yuuji is worse than any look he’s ever given an actual worm, but it’s nothing new. And Yuuji doesn’t care what Sukuna thinks or feels or does, but he doesn’t want to remember Fushiguro like this. “I should pluck your eyes out one by one and make you choke on them.”
Yuuji sneers even wider. “Try it.”
Sukuna does.
Well, he tries something, a clawed hand reaching for Yuuji’s face, but he’s prepared for it, and the rest of his body might be useless, but his head’s just fine, and he greets that hand with snapping teeth.
His jaw clicks shut around empty air.
Sukuna slaps him across the face with enough force to make his brain rattle in his skull.
Yuuji catches that hand in his teeth, deaf and blind with the blow but furious.
Blood soaks his mouth, dripping down his chin.
Sukuna rips his hand away. A chunk of his flesh stays in Yuuji’s mouth.
He doesn’t know what compels him to swallow. But he does, and his vision clears, the colors of the room unblurring. Sukuna’s disgusted face dominates his vision, and he’s not looking at Yuuji, just examining his own hand—Fushiguro’s hand, with long, thin fingers Yuuji used to find strangely mesmerizing whenever they gestured idly in the air or twisted into the signs for his shikigami, now grotesquely ruined like everything else Sukuna has touched—and it’s already healed, but the blood is still there, dripping steadily on the white sheets.
“Mad dogs have more sense than you,” he tells Yuuji. “They’re certainly better behaved. I have no hopes of training you, but I’ll teach you a trick or two.”
“Fuck—ah!”
Yuuji swallows the rest of that scream, screwing his eyes shut as blood seems to burst from every inch of his face. A hundred small, shallow cuts, burning worse than fire. It’s wet, dripping down the sides of his face and trickling into his nose. Yuuji snorts hard to get it out, but the smell lingers, sharp and coppery.
A palm settles on his face, fingers splayed across its width.
Yuuji tries to shake it off, jerking his head sharply to the side, and gets nothing but an amused scoff and searing pressure for his trouble, Sukuna tightening his grip like he plans to crush Yuuji’s skull, and it’s not fear that floods his veins but seething fury, the kind that makes him go cold inside and out.
“Let go,” he says.
Surprisingly, Sukuna does just that.
The pain on Yuuji’s face leaves with it.
“What—”
“Don’t look so surprised,” Sukuna says, his tone light and almost friendly in a way that immediately makes Yuuji wary. “I have use for you yet. And it wouldn’t be very sporting of me to break you before we even start.”
Yuuji opens his mouth—and closes it, swallowing the blood that trickles in. The rest of his face is still hot. It’ll dry sticky and itchy.
He swallows again. “Start what?”
Sukuna tilts his head to the side, that eerily serene smile still fixed to his lips. “Let’s call it a game. Who’ll lose first—you or Fushiguro Megumi?”
“Leave Fushiguro out of this!”
Sukuna spreads his arms, the gesture more mocking than grand. He’s not wearing Fushiguro’s uniform anymore; he’s not wearing much of anything, just a pair of hakama. Yuuji wishes he’d cover up more, even that damn kimono he paraded around in while infesting Yuuji’s soul, just so he doesn’t have to see Fushiguro’s pale skin stained by those inky curse marks.
But that’s the point, isn’t it? Yuuji hates that he knows exactly what the bastard isn’t saying.
Fushiguro is already in this.
And it’s Yuuji’s fault.
He remembers, the way he always does, what Sukuna said and did while in his body. He remembers more—that short-lived fight in Sukuna’s innate domain, his own naïve bullshit, that binding vow. A contract he didn’t remember and barely understands even now, except for the stark knowledge that he’s the cause of this.
Sukuna lowers his arms. He’s not smirking anymore, but Fushiguro’s features are still twisted into an expression he’d never wear. It’s familiar and unfamiliar both because Yuuji knows that look—the hot, brimming satisfaction of a monster with prey in its teeth—in the depths of his soul, but it’s nothing he should ever see on this face.
Yuuji hated seeing it on his own face, even in dreams of things that never happened, but he’d have been content to die like that.
“What a pathetic face,” Sukuna says softly. “We haven’t even started. Don’t bore me already.”
“You—”
Sukuna strips.
It only takes a second. A pass of his hand, and his pants pool at his feet, which step out of them with a casualness that lodges like hot coal in Yuuji’s throat.
“What the hell are you doing?” he yells.
“Don’t bother with the pretense. I know just how much you liked looking at this body. I was there—watching, feeling. Reduced to playing voyeur to foolish children.” Sukuna makes a show of stretching, and Yuuji looks, helpless and horrified—and the helplessness is nothing new, but the horror is. Everything is wrong. “You’re not subtle, brat. This boy knew full well where you were looking and what exactly you wanted to do. He liked the attention.”
“Shut the fuck up!”
A thin strip of heat opens along Yuuji’s throat, too shallow to do more than burn and bleed uselessly.
“I’m speaking. Know your place.”
“Fuck you.”
Sukuna’s expression grows thunderous, anger that looks nothing like Fushiguro’s fury, and Yuuji’s sure for a moment that this is it, he’ll be shredded so finely that he won’t leave behind anything but a wet red smear—like that girl in the station, all those people and buildings and people in Shibuya—but then Sukuna sneers and the threat dissipates, and Yuuji doesn’t feel an ounce of relief.
“No matter,” Sukuna says, his voice so gentle that every hair on Yuuji’s half-limp body stands up. “I have better ways to show you.”
He climbs on the bed.
On Yuuji.
And Yuuji should be bracing for pain because this bastard has never once touched him except to hurt him, but he finds himself staring dumbly instead at the way Sukuna moves. There’s something eerie about it—a liquid grace that’s indescribably different from how he fights. It looks strange on Fushiguro’s body, even worse than the physical prowess did earlier.
It’s when Sukuna straddles him that Yuuji realizes what he’s really seeing.
Seductive.
Fushiguro’s body—no, Sukuna in Fushiguro’s body—is moving seductively.
It’s creepy.
“Hey,” Yuuji hears himself say, his lips numb and his words distant, “what the hell are you doing, Sukuna?”
“You’re repeating yourself,” Sukuna answers disinterestedly, and it’s not Yuuji’s face he’s looking at but his— “This might be the only part of you that’s not a disappointment. It’s not much to look at now, but you showed it off often enough. I remember your perversions well.”
It’s nonsense.
All of it, every word.
They ring in Yuuji’s ears, and it feels like they’re crawling in, burrowing into his brain to bite into parts of it. It hurts. His whole body feels cold.
But that just makes him realize how warm Sukuna is, perched on his thighs and leering at his cock.
It’s limp, a few inches curled quietly against his thigh. But he knows what Sukuna meant. He’s wrong too. Yuuji wasn’t showing off. He didn’t care that the bastard was in him, and after the first few times he tried to be a pest while Yuuji was touching himself, he got into the habit of suppressing him preemptively, but he knows that doesn’t stop Sukuna from watching, seeing—
“What are you doing?” Yuuji repeats.
Annoyance flits through Sukuna’s face before it settles into a sneer again. “Didn’t I tell you? I have use for you yet.”
He touches Yuuji.
Sheer revulsion burns through him.
His body doesn’t move.
But he can feel everything, from the calluses on Fushiguro’s fingers to the human warmth of his skin, and for a moment, all he can think is that this is the first time someone else is touching him there.
Sukuna’s hand goes from cupping Yuuji’s cock to curling around it, the whole soft length swallowed in his fist. More heat, more calloused skin. Yuuji heaves with his whole body, but his arms and legs and torso don’t budge even a millimeter. His face and neck grow hot with exertion, but it’s useless, leaving him panting for air around a closed-up throat.
Sukuna doesn’t even seem to notice the struggle, his hand still curled around Yuuji’s dick. It grips it tighter.
Moves.
Yuuji’s eyes catch on the narrow line of his knuckles—pale and bony, the skin so delicate that Yuuji can see the green of the veins underneath. Familiar veins, carved into his memory from all the times he watched Fushiguro’s hands.
Heat builds in his cock, and bile surges to his throat.
Yuuji chokes it down.
“Stop it,” he rasps. “You sick fucking bastard, let go.”
“Already?” Sukuna asks with fake, exaggerated surprise. He seems to be on the verge of pouting. “But we’ve only just begun. Haven’t you dreamed of this, brat? This body against you, under you.”
Every word is punctuated with a stroke of Yuuji’s cock, and he can’t ignore it, the sensations strange and overwhelming despite being just another hand, different from his own only in shape and size, and even as Yuuji chokes down the tight, trembling noises trying to crawl up his throat, the rest of his body betrays him, growing warm and plump in Sukuna’s hand.
Sukuna’s hand, not—
“You’re not him,” Yuuji grits out.
“It’s his body.” Sukuna leans forward, that damned hand still flexing around Yuuji’s cock, to leer down at Yuuji with all four of his red, red eyes. “And your body doesn’t care who’s running the show.”
“No. No, you’re—”
Sukuna squeezes his cock hard, and Yuuji clenches his jaw shut before a shout can escape. His whole gut is pulsing, a different kind of writhing than the one under the seal there.
“Humans are all the same—greedy for the flesh.” It’s a low, lazy drawl, a corner of Sukuna’s mouth curling into a mocking grin. His hand stills but doesn’t leave Yuuji’s cock, staying wrapped around the base. It’s only half hard, Yuuji’s horror just barely beating out the unwanted bite of that touch. “This one’s no different. Do you want to know what Fushiguro Megumi dreamed of?”
Yuuji’s breath hitches, something wet in it.
“No,” he says, and it comes out too quiet, too weak. “Shut up. Stop. Don’t—”
“He wanted you to pin him down and take him. All the power in your body pouring into him. Hurting him. He wouldn’t even have struggled. And he felt so guilty, the fool—because you never would, would you? You and your mewling soul, always too weak to take what you want.”
All Yuuji can do is shake his head, trying to kill the images in his head.
Sukuna’s eyes grow heavy, the two main ones now as narrow as the ones on his cheeks.
“His mind was even filthier than yours,” he practically purrs. “The perversions he wanted out of you. He was more faithful too. You wanted more, you greedy fool—this boy and your whore of a teacher. You just couldn’t choose.”
“Shut up.” Another full-body heave, another surge of nothing. “Shut up, shut up—”
Sukuna slaps him again, those sharp nails scoring red-hot lines from the underside of his ear to the edge of his mouth. “Mind your dirty mouth. Where was I? Ah, yes—Fushiguro Megumi’s desires. He touched himself every night thinking of you—your mouth, your hands, your cock. He crammed half a hand into his body and pretended it was you. He choked out your name and hoped you’d hear anyway—that you’d barge into his room and put him to good use.”
Every word lashes through Yuuji, full of heat.
He pictures it—Fushiguro in the dorms, legs spread and cock hard and ass stuffed. His mind is too used to picturing it.
And his cock answers, fattening to its full size in Sukuna’s grip.
“Why are you doing this?” Yuuji asks, choking on desperation.
“Fushiguro Megumi is stubborn,” Sukuna says simply. “I want him broken. And you? You’re just a tool.”
“Leave him the fuck—”
“Be quiet. This is what you wanted anyway. What’d you call yourself—a cog? Cogs get ground to dust, fool.”
“That’s not what this is about and you know it, asshole. Let Fushiguro go.”
Sukuna looks unimpressed. “Even you can’t possibly believe that’ll work.”
Yuuji opens his mouth again—not sure what he’ll say because Sukuna’s right, he knows it, but he can’t just say nothing, do nothing—but another slap shoves the words back down his throat, and this time, Sukuna withdraws his hand well before Yuuji can bite him.
He bares his teeth at the bastard.
Sukuna lets go of Yuuji’s cock, planting it on his chest instead, and for a moment, Yuuji thinks he’s going to—
Claws dig into his flesh, scoring bloody lines all the way down to the seal over his stomach.
Yuuji lets out a controlled breath, the pain a stark relief.
But his dick doesn’t soften any, especially when Sukuna swipes his palm over the wounds and wraps that bloody fist around it again, and it’s a horrifying sight, Yuuji’s stomach churning as his own blood drips down his cock, but the touch is hot and wet and tight, and nothing changes.
Sukuna raises himself onto his knees.
“Sukuna.” Yuuji doesn’t recognize his own voice—that quiet, distant thing. “Don’t.”
Sukuna doesn’t dignify that with a response. Yuuji’s not surprised. And then he’s just in pain, his bloody cock forced into a body that’s too tight and too small.
He can feel something tear inside Fushiguro—no, inside Sukuna.
But it’s Fushiguro’s body.
The one Yuuji wanted to—
The pain fades too quickly, eaten by a searing, biting pressure that’s nothing like his hand, even the tightest grips he’s dared, and it feels—
It feels good.
It feels sick.
Sukuna bottoms out with a deep, throaty noise that makes Yuuji’s gut knot up in disgust.
“Not bad,” Sukuna says, his voice calm and steady like he didn’t just tear his stolen body open on Yuuji’s dick. “This might be the only useful part of you, brat.”
Yuuji says nothing. He can’t. His throat is tight, his eyes hot.
Another kind of heat is pulsing throughout his body, familiar but not—tainted, tainting pleasure. His cock stays hard inside Sukuna, and Yuuji doesn’t want to focus on it, feel it, but he can’t help it, all of him narrowed hot and pulsing to the flesh wrapped so tightly around his cock.
He’s imagined it—who hasn’t? Vague, faceless images over the last few years. The thick, plush curves of a woman, and the hard, strong lines of a man. The last several months, there were faces—dark hair and blue-green eyes, white hair and a blindfold. He knew what their bodies looked like, felt like.
He wanted.
He’s never even kissed anyone.
Sukuna starts moving.
It’s worse like this, the first feverish drag of that body up his cock ripping a harsh, helpless noise out of Yuuji, and he clamps his jaw shut when Sukuna drops down, bottoming out with a satisfied sigh, but not even the pain of his teeth tearing into the inside of his own cheek saves Yuuji from the sickeningly sweet heat rippling through his body.
“Don’t look so pathetic,” Sukuna says, and his voice is even, showing no signs of exertion despite the growing speed of his body, but there’s a gravelly edge to it that makes Yuuji want to flinch. “This is a privilege.”
Yuuji laughs. It comes out sounding like something else entirely.
Sukuna’s mouth twists, and Yuuji closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see that smug sneer.
It works for a while—a few endless seconds. For a moment, Yuuji feels like his body’s not even his, like he’s floating above it all where there’s no sound or sight or sensation, and it’s bliss.
It doesn’t last.
He slams back into himself with a groan he can’t choke down as a deliberate clench of the muscles around his cock sends fire through his veins, and then it’s all he can feel—the wet heat sliding over his cock, taking in every inch of it before pulling off almost all the way, threatening to break free before plummeting at a speed more vicious than the last time.
It’s better than anything he’s ever felt, even the wettest, filthiest ways he’s put his hands on himself, and Yuuji doesn’t want it, he doesn’t, but his body doesn’t seem to care, growing warm and damp all over, and Yuuji wishes the seals killed all sensation just so he doesn’t have to feel any of this, but they don’t and he does, and he finds himself panting in horrific tune to Sukuna’s movements.
He opens his eyes in pure desperation.
And Sukuna—
For an electric moment, all Yuuji can do is gape, sheer incredulity killing his brain functions.
Sukuna’s enjoying himself, head tilted back and mouth parted, a slight flush to his cheeks as he fucks his body down onto Yuuji. He’s even fondling his own chest, long fingers splayed wide over Fushiguro’s modest pecs, squeezing in some rhythm only the bastard knows. Now and then, a wickedly sharp nail flicks over a nipple, drawing blood that’s instantly sucked back into the skin, but not before that body tightens convulsively around Yuuji’s cock.
Yuuji’s perversely grateful that the marks leave him no choice but to know with damning certainty that this is Sukuna, not Fushiguro, even as his body continues to betray him.
His eyes drop, looking at the one thing he’s been avoiding until now—Fushiguro’s cock.
It’s there, jutting out at full hardness and bouncing with Sukuna’s movements.
It suits Fushiguro, slim and flushed a delicate pink. It doesn’t suit Sukuna at all.
But there are no inky curse marks there, only sweet pink flesh, and maybe that’s why Yuuji doesn’t look away, clinging to that bit of Fushiguro as a telltale tension begins to build in his body.
And Yuuji still tries to fight it, but he knows his body, knows what works and what doesn’t, and it’s just a losing battle he can’t help fighting.
The tension erupts, pleasure that screams into pain, and Yuuji bites his tongue and chokes on his own blood just so he won’t make a single sound. It doesn’t stop his body from shuddering and sweating, but for once, he’s grateful for the seals keeping him still and limp.
“Oi,” Sukuna snarls, his hips coming to an abrupt stop. “How dare you come without permission?”
Yuuji swallows another mouthful of mingled blood and saliva, opening eyes he can’t remember closing. He raises his eyes to Sukuna and tries to glare, but the muscles on his face feel off, like they also don’t belong to him.
“Go to hell,” Yuuji says numbly.
Sukuna just tsks…and settles back on Yuuji’s limp cock, squeezing his hot, wet insides around it. Yuuji grits his teeth against a hiss; the pressure is hell on his hypersensitive dick.
“Don’t forget—I know what your body is capable of.” Sukuna grins, too wide, with too much teeth—it’s obscene on Fushiguro’s face. “I’ll make you useful again.”
His ass tightens around Yuuji’s cock, deliberate and devastating, and it’s not good, not now, Yuuji too sensitive from coming to enjoy the heat or the pressure, but that won’t last. Sukuna wasn’t wrong; Yuuji will be good to go in a minute or so, and he already knows his cock doesn’t know or care about the difference between what he wants and what he doesn’t.
Yuuji says, “I’m sorry.”
Sukuna frowns.
Yuuji closes his eyes, bracing himself. There’s bile in his throat again and a bitter taste that lingers even after he swallows it down.
This is sacrilege, but—
His grandfather in that hospital bed, alive one moment and gone the next. Junpei twisting into a misshapen monster, clinging to Yuuji and so, so scared. Nanami’s soft smile, the words of faith Yuuji failed to earn. Kugisaki serene and strong, uttering words Yuuji never shared with anyone. The haunting blue of Gojou’s eyes, studded on a cube Yuuji never grasped. Fushiguro’s horrified face, twisting into a horrifying smirk.
Every horror in his life. Every terrible memory.
He remembers them, replays them. He does it again and again and again.
Grandpa. Junpei. Nanami. Kugisaki. Gojou. Fushiguro.
It can’t not be a sin, thinking of those precious people while his limp dick is covered in a mess of his own blood and come, snug in the person he loathes the most in the world in the body of a boy he loves.
Yuuji keeps doing it.
Grandpa. Junpei. Nanami.
I’m sorry.
Kugisaki. Gojou. Fushiguro.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—
His cock doesn’t stir. He can barely feel his body, his mind lost to the past. His eyes are hot, the corners wet. Yuuji doesn’t mind crying for them.
A clawed hand wraps around his throat, the heel digging into the hollow of his throat.
Yuuji doesn’t stop.
Grandpa, Junpei, Nanami, Kugisaki, Gojou, Fushiguro, Grandpa, Junpei, Nanami, Kugisaki, Gojou, Fushiguro, Grandpa, Junpei, Nanami, Kugisaki, Gojou, Fushiguro—
Sukuna snarls, the sound lashing at the air and doing nothing to kill Yuuji’s mental chant.
Grandpa, Junpei, Nanami, Kugisaki—
“Stubborn trash,” Sukuna snarls, “I’ll—”
He cuts off with a choking sound.
Then—
“Itadori.”
Yuuji opens his eyes, his mind burning white.
“Fushiguro…?”
Sukuna—Sukuna?—is still sitting on his dick, muscles clamped tight around it, but he’s bowed over, clutching his own chest, and as Yuuji watches, the dark marks on his arms flicker, fading in patches, and it starts happening with the rest of him too, the shoulders and chest and hips—
“Fushiguro!”
Yuuji forgets his restraints, his limitations, and it doesn’t help, his body still uselessly limp, but he strains his neck as much as he can, trying to catch a glimpse of Fushiguro’s face.
“Fushiguro? Is that you? Fight it! Fight him! You can do it, come on—”
Fushiguro topples forward, his body pulling a little off Yuuji’s cock, making him gasp, and it’s the wrong damn time, so he ignores it, even as all the other sensations he was ignoring try to come rushing back. He focuses on Fushiguro, who’s panting into his neck, his hands digging like claws into Yuuji’s shoulders, and it’s nothing like Sukuna’s actual claws, just blunt nails made brutal with desperation, and Yuuji welcomes the pain with bright delight.
“Fushiguro—”
“Itadori,” Fushiguro gasps, and it’s his voice, his tone, not Sukuna’s grandiose bullshit. “Itadori, I—”
Yuuji can’t help trying to reach for him again, and his arms don’t move, so he tucks his chin into Fushiguro’s hair, rubbing it side to side in a clumsy attempt at comfort.
“Fight it,” he urges. “C’mon, Fushiguro, you’re stronger than that bastard.”
Fushiguro shudders—inside and out.
Yuuji’s cock is already half hard.
“Shit,” Yuuji hisses. “I’m sorry. You need to—can you move, Fushiguro, can you—”
“Itadori,” Fushiguro says again, and it’s a moan this time, trembling against the skin of Yuuji’s throat.
It feels—it makes him feel—
“Hey,” Yuuji says more urgently, trying and failing to ignore the blood rushing to his dick, “man, please, you really need to—”
Fushiguro tightens around him, a red-hot ripple of pure pressure.
Yuuji groans, and he knows he’d have bucked his hips if he could have, his body spiraling out of his control.
“Fushiguro!” he snaps. “The hell are you doing?”
Fushiguro laughs.
No.
Sukuna laughs.
Yuuji’s blood runs cold, but his cock stays hot and hard.
“So pathetically human,” Sukuna purrs, raising his head to leer down at Yuuji. “Every single one of you.”
Yuuji spits on his face.
The retaliating punch makes his vision go black.
When it clears, Sukuna’s settled on his cock again and is still wiping his face with a disgusted expression. It twists into a sneer when he catches Yuuji glaring.
“You haven’t earned such insolence.” A tilt of the head, considering. “I should cut off your limbs and fuck you like that.”
“Go on,” Yuuji tells him, meaning it. “It’s the only way you can do it, right? I can’t even move. Coward.”
Sukuna scoffs. “Don’t blame your weakness on me. These are simple seals any half-baked sorcerer could break. But you’re barely that. After all, that teacher of yours was too busy slutting around to teach you anything of worth.”
“Don’t fucking talk about him like that!”
“Alright,” Sukuna says mildly. “I have no interest in making conversation with the likes of you. Try to last longer this time, brat.”
Yuuji snarls, which is a mistake because Sukuna chooses then to move, that too-tight too-hot body slithering up the length of Yuuji’s cock and clenching around the head, and his snarl turns into a helpless moan, out there lashing in the air before Yuuji can snap his jaw shut.
“How does it feel,” Sukuna asks, his voice lowered into an obscene purr, “to be so weak?”
Yuuji only glares. Sukuna’s expression stays smug and sneering, even as he slides his body back down, a delicate flutter of his lips giving away the pleasure he’s taking from Yuuji.
He hates it. He hates him.
Yuuji almost closes his eyes, but he already knows his earlier desperate sin won’t save him now. He can’t think of them again; he can’t violate those memories again.
Sukuna’s building a new rhythm, slower and more luxurious than before. His hips meet Yuuji’s and linger, circling in ways that make his blood spark—too bright and sweet to ignore. Yuuji’s cock stays hard for him to use, the blood in it pulsing ripe and hot like a sickness.
He hates it.
There’s something fluttering at the edges of Yuuji’s mind—a dark, seductive numbness. He could close his eyes and try to give in; he’s done it before, and it didn’t last, didn’t help anything either, but that was a different battlefield. This time, the oblivion may last.
It’d only be right; he played his role and screwed it up, and now…
Yuuji wants to do it.
But—
He’s not the one Sukuna’s fighting. Yuuji’s just a worm to this bastard.
“F-Fushiguro,” Yuuji forces out. There’s blood in his mouth from the many cuts his own teeth made along the insides, and it trickles thickly down his throat with his spit, threatening to choke him. He swallows, tries again: “Hey. Hey, Fushiguro.”
Sukuna arches an eyebrow, another expression that’s off on that face. “Don’t tell me you actually fell for it. If you truly think you can yank this boy out—”
“It’s fine!” Yuuji says, raising his voice to cut through Sukuna’s bullshit. “You’re in there, right, Fushiguro? Listening. So listen to me. It’s fine. This isn’t your fault. I know I sound like a hypocrite saying that, but I really do get it now.” Yuuji does close his eyes then because his eyes are hot, the corners wet. But that’s fine. He smiles. “None of this is your fault, Megumi.”
He means it. He does.
This isn’t Fushiguro’s fault.
It’s Yuuji’s, always Yuuji’s. But Fushiguro won’t buy that. He’s so kind.
Sukuna is still and silent, which is so damn weird that Yuuji suspiciously pries his eyes open. A wide-eyed expression greets him, and for a moment, he thinks—
Sukuna throws his head back and howls with laughter. He even leans back, bracing his palms on Yuuji’s thighs like his dick is a fucking throne for him to perch on, and that mad laughter goes on and on and on, bouncing off the walls and ceilings till the whole room seems to tremble with it. Yuuji grits his teeth and shakes his head, and the laughter doesn’t die or fade, skewering his eardrums till it feels like they’ll start bleeding.
“Shut up!” he shouts.
Sukuna doesn’t. He’s never done a good thing, ever.
The laugher quiets in degrees, Sukuna’s body shaking, and for a brief moment, Yuuji’s grateful, and then he realizes that the piercing annoyance had kept him from focusing on the pressure around his cock. He bites an already bleeding wound, trying to focus on the pain.
It doesn’t help much. He’s too used to ignoring pain, and the pleasure of another body is too new to tune out.
“This is perfect,” Sukuna says between breathless bursts of unhinged laughter. “You made it so much worse, brat. Fushiguro Megumi’s drowning soul has just sunk even deeper into my own. I might even thank you.”
Yuuji’s blood turns to ice again, sharp shards pressing into his veins. “You’re lying.”
“I have no need to,” Sukuna says softly, all four eyes heavy-lidded. “Here’s your reward.”
Five shallow cuts burst open along the full width of Yuuji’s chest, spraying blood a few centimeters into the air. The pain hits a few seconds later, and Yuuji tries again to fixate on it and not Sukuna’s resumed movements, but it’s still the same, his body swallowing the pain but squirming under the pleasure.
“Go on,” he tries anyway. “Hurt me all you like, you pathetic piece of shit. Can’t get off without it, can you?”
“It adds a certain flavor,” Sukuna admits calmly. “But only that was for you. The rest will be for Fushiguro Megumi. There’s enough of him left to suffer at seeing his doomed love torn up under my power.” Sukuna grins, wide and mad. “Even as he moans and comes under my body.”
“Fuck you,” Yuuji hisses. “Fuck you, stop it, leave him—”
Another flare of power cuts him off, and it’s his thighs that are torn open this time, slicking Sukuna’s own palms with blood. They slip and slide on Yuuji’s skin, claws digging into the open cuts. For a blissful moment, a white-hot flare of pain makes Yuuji forget everything else.
Then that’s gone too, his body adjusting with an ease that’s unwanted for the first time in his life.
Sukuna clenches blisteringly around his cock, forcing his hips down at a speed that makes stars burst in Yuuji’s vision.
More cuts follow—his arms, neatly avoiding the seals.
A clench around the head, a barrage of shudder-sweet sensation.
Sukuna slices through the seals on Yuuji’s legs, cutting through into muscle, and Yuuji bucks up, clenching his teeth through the screaming pain and debilitating weakness, trying to throw Sukuna off of him, but his leverage is shit and Sukuna’s strong, and all the bastard does is ride the rise of Yuuji’s hips, meeting it midway with a wet slap of flesh on flesh.
The tendons at his ankles are severed, and then it’s not the seals keeping Yuuji down.
His body’s wet.
And cool, a weird icy bite in the insides of his skin.
Blood loss, Yuuji realizes dimly.
His cock’s hot though. It feels—
He pries his eyes open. He doesn’t remember closing them.
Sukuna’s reaching out, nails dark and clawed. They dig into Yuuji’s stomach, cutting skin torn and whole. The bloody fist wraps around Fushiguro’s cock—
No, not his, it’s Sukuna, this is—
Darkness creeps into the edges of Yuuji’s vision, but he keeps his eyes open, narrowed to the bloody cock sliding in and out of that bloody fist.
There are noises. There are movements.
There’s heat. There’s cold.
Pearly white spurts from between the bloody fist. It burns his body, seeping into the torn flesh.
Tight convulsions take his cock.
The darkness becomes whole and blissful.
Then—
“Die pitifully and quietly, as you were meant to. I’ll make use of your corpse later.” Footsteps. Low, thudding, distant. He’s cold. “And I’ll be sure to pass on your regards to Fushiguro Tsumiki.”