Chapter Text
It's a normal day like any other, until it isn't.
They – Sukuna, that is, though they don't know that yet – have classes to get to. It's their passing period now, and they squeeze through the bustling crowd feeling like a sardine. Or an anchovy. When is lunch again? They're hungry.
They pop out into a stairwell. It's oddly empty and quiet. Liminal, even. The whiplash is jarring. Every footstep echoes. They push it out of their mind – they have places to be, after all.
It only takes a second for them to slip. Their foot catches, and suddenly they're –
– Falling.
The world blurs into a muddy mess. Adrenaline chokes their throat. They can't tell which direction is up – not that they could see with their eyes locked shut.
They wait for an impact – for pain – that doesn't come.
There's a pressure in Sukuna's head. As though their mind is being pulled through the eye of a needle, stretched impossibly thin and squeezed impossibly small. They feel bloated. The pressure reaches a fever pitch, and they feel like they're dead and that this is what dying feels like, until –
Pop.
Just like that, the headache lets up. They feel good. Better than ever, even. But – still tight, too tight, they can't move –
The pressure is coming from the outside.
The world slams into crystal focus. They gasp sharply, four eyes as wide as dinner plates, and are promptly met with the grotesque visage of an ugly, fuckoff-huge monster gripping them in one hand.
They struggle, lashing out, acting on pure instinct – and their instincts answer .
Dismantle.
The monster freezes in place, before its body sloughs off itself in clean-cut chunks, leaving Sukuna to drop roughly to the ground. Blood – purple blood – sprays onto their clothes, staining their hoodie ( what? ). The thing's dead flesh collapses with a wet, meaty thud.
They're standing on a rooftop ( where..?) . Moonlight illuminates a small-town skyline. Tattered sleeves reveal tattoos encircling their wrists ( no, no, no) . It smells rancid – like rot and death. They want to throw up. The monster – the curse's – blood drips down their face. Suddenly, they're all too-aware of their eyes ( oh, God) . Too many.
"Fuck. Fuck , are you kidding me? " they say breathlessly, almost hysterical, and their voice is wrong . Every muscle in their body is pulled taut, twitching and jittering with anxiety.
Sukuna whirls around when they hear shoes scraping on the ground behind them as Fushiguro, no more than five meters away, tenses, adjusting his stance.
And of course, it can't be him, he isn't real, none of this is real – but their body aches like it is, and the world feels like it is. It's mesmerizing, almost, to see this boy come to life. It's in the way his hair bristles in the wind, the dirt marring his uniform, his eyes – oh, God, his eyes –
(Fushiguro can only freeze as the thing that effortlessly defeated – butchered , rather – the curse lays its attention on him. Its cursed energy lashes and churns violently.
He can't breathe .)
Sukuna can see – sense – his fear. It's a palpable thing, sticky and cloying on their tongue. Everything is too much. The humid air, the sick smell of the curse, their skin too small for their soul and Fushiguro is right there, they're scaring him, stop –
They might be having a panic attack.
Abruptly, their body ( well, it's not theirs, but – ) decides to stop listening to them. Something gently – if clumsily – prods at their consciousness.
"Hey, hey, hey, chill out. Let's all calm down," it says, jerking their hands up in surrender.
– Right. Yuuji. Thank God.
"Yeah, me. This is – do you think I could just – Yeah, there we go."
Sukuna lets go without a fight. Itadori Yuuji shakes his body out, posture loosening and breaths evening out as the tattoos fade from his face, leaving only faint scars.
For the second time in one night, they're somewhere completely different. If they listen carefully, they can still hear what's happening outside –
( " I will exorcise the curse known as Itadori Yuuji!"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, seriously – put the hand signs down, let's just talk about this – " )
– but it's muffled.
Around them lies another familiar scene, if again in painfully realistic detail. A lake of blood, a throne of skulls, an overarching ribcage enclosing them in. The bones are surprisingly comfortable.
For a second, they just breathe.
Then they maneuver awkwardly down their Bone Pile to investigate their new reflection. Short pink hair, flowing kimono, face tattoos. Taller. More muscular. It's what they expected, but it already feels more comfortable than a minute ago. Maybe a body is just like new shoes – you have to break it in first.
They poke curiously at their new eyes, twitching reflexively. Cool.
( "Could you switch with Sukuna for me?"
"That sounds like a terrible idea, man." )
The Sukuna in question blanches. Wait, what?! Is Gojo here already? They weren't paying attention, everything's happening too fast! They're not ready! Gojo's going to kill them, and then Yuuji will die, and then the world will end, and it'll be all their fault.
( "Also, he, uh. He says he doesn't want to." )
"Hold on, wait, I didn't say that! Just give me a second here!" Sukuna flails.
( "Aww, the mighty King of Curses, scared to fight little ol' me?"
"It just doesn't seem like a good idea…" )
"... And you seem pretty freaked out," Yuuji continues, voice echoing solely in their Domain.
Sukuna gapes. "Me? Freaked out? I'm – I'm a super scary curse. No way. I don't get… freaked out."
( "How heroic! But don't worry. I'm the Strongest. All I need is ten seconds." )
"He's going to think that - he'll think you're possessed if you say no. And then he'll kill you! And that'll kill both of us! C'mon, just let me out, I'll go right back in after," Sukuna pleads, staying-in-character be damned in the beautiful, blue-eyed face of death.
( "...Alright," Yuuji says, replying to both Sukuna and Gojo. "You get five seconds."
"That's more than enough, Itadori-kun!" )
Yuuji relaxes, and there's a tug, and Sukuna is behind the driver's seat once more.
They blink, adjusting to the light. Gojo Satoru is right there ; they can feel his Cursed Energy buzzing with anticipation. Even through that stupid blindfold of his, they can sense those Six Eyes boring into them. A bug, pinned.
Sukuna fights the urge to squirm. Fuck! This is too scary!
They avert their gaze to find Megumi standing behind Gojo, clutching – oh, right, the sweets! Wouldn't that make for a great last meal before being exorcised? He flinches when they make eye contact.
Poor guy. They could relate.
Gojo tilts his head, grin slightly stilted. "You really aren't going to attack, are you?"
(Satoru is prepared for a fight. Hoping for it, even. He doesn't get the chance to show off every day!
At only one-20th of his power, even Ryoumen Sukuna is child's play. His Six Eyes see how the Cursed Energy surrounding Sukuna twists and curls in on itself, metaphorical hands wringing. Like it's scared. But that can't be possible.
Then again, nothing about this kid should be possible.
Satoru is ready for a fight. This? This is an unknown. And that is exhilarating. )
Sukuna doesn't trust themself to say anything. It'll completely blow their cover as the scary King of Curses. They opt for a solemn shake of their head with what they hope is an appropriately serious expression.
Five seconds pass in, well… five seconds. A blink of an eye. Rather than a tug, something pushes them back out of the physical body, and back into the Domain.
On their way out, they hear Yuuji talking to Gojo, something like, "Alright, that's enough."
Back in their own territory once more, relief sends them crashing bonelessly to the ground. Tears well up in their eyes – it's safe now, their Gege-mandated screen time is up, and they can sit and process all that for the next however-many-hours.
After a moment, all the faint echoes of what's happening outside go mute. Did something happen? The pure silence without any background noise is a bit eerie. Yuuji probably fell asleep, or something. Didn't Gojo knock him out?
It's sort of like the dizziness right before you fall asleep. Everything is just slightly off-kilter.
Inhale, and exhale. For all that the floor is covered in blood, it doesn't feel wet at all.
Time passes slower when there's nothing to do. Sukuna kicks a skull and watches it go flying.
After throwing up a few times, they've thought it over. While their situation might seem bad, they've decided that it could definitely be worse. So they've come up with a foolproof plan.
Step 1: Don't get killed.
Step 2: Don't get caught.
Step 3: Don't be a murderous asshole (see step 1).
Step 4: Profit?
…They're workshopping it.
So, step 1: The first step to not getting killed by sorcerers is being strong. Being a Special Grade is as much a shield as it is a burden. Without any power to back them up, Sukuna is like a sitting duck for all of Jujutsu society to take potshots at.
They could probably run away very fast, but unfortunately that would be grossly out of character. Don't get caught.
So what they do is this: point at some spot in the middle distance and call on the Cursed Energy resting within them. Entreat it, rather. A plea from artist to muse, warlock to patron.
Their power is eager to obey. It blankets them curiously, nudging their form into place and twisting itself into a familiar, deadly technique. Without thinking – on instinct – they speak its name.
" Cleave . " The invisible slice rockets out, cutting a deep gash into one of their Domain's ribs. Sukuna stares wide-eyed at the debris they created, and then at their own hands.
"What the fuck," they mumble.
Sukuna calls their Cursed Energy to manifest again. It hums, glowing red. It leaves a pretty trail as it follows their hand in wide arcs, dancing to Sukuna's tune.
It bends to their will effortlessly, dancing to their every whim. They fire off another Cleave like it's nothing, and it is nothing. It's a little bit intoxicating, but moreso terrifying . A small chunk of their own domain collapses with a resounding crash.
Who thought it was a good idea to give Sukuna this kind of power? What kind of cheat is this?!
What if they did that to a human?
Sukuna shudders. Bile rises in the back of their throat again. Couldn't someone else take this job? This Sukuna is just a coward, so please don't make them fight, okay?!
Okay. Deep breaths. Don't think about mutilated, creepy Curses. Keep the instant-death techniques for a rainy day. Sukuna decides to do something distinctly less murder-y.
They opt not to try and take a peek outside of Yuuji's body. What if Gojo's out there, and he obliterates them instantly, huh? That'd be game over. Who knew being the King of Curses was so mortally terrifying.
Sukuna takes in the oppressive atmosphere of their Domain. Can't they do something about that? It's not fair that they got stuck with the original's musty, murky man-cave.
They make eye contact with one of the hollow-eyed animal skulls and wince. Saddled with the guy's soul and his terrible aesthetics.
Minutes later, they sit atop their newly-cushioned throne, surrounded by a lake of unidentifiable baby-pink liquid. Thin metal prisms – failed smartphones – lay discarded at the base of a pile of skulls, now-adorned with fairy lights and refurbished with new colors.
" Much better," Sukuna announces, trying and failing to play with a paddleboard. It's no wonder that the original was a nutjob, 1000 years without internet? They'd start murdering people too.
Now, much more relaxed (as relaxed as they can get, given the circumstances), Sukuna – in the middle of trying to summon junk food to stress-eat – distinctly senses Itadori Yuuji waking up.
( Don't get killed. Don't get caught. )
Sukuna groans.