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The odds of a cursed spirit incarnating in a human body were improbable. For over a millenia, the physical remains of Sukuna’s body—and, by extension, his power—remained fragmented.
The conditions necessary for incarnation weren’t easily met. Even if an unsuspecting human ingested one of his physical remnants, there was a greater chance that their organs would putrefy and their hearts fail than that they’d prove a viable host. Humans by nature were feeble and weak. Little more than maggots, they didn’t deserve the honour of housing the King of Curses in their easily pulverized bodies.
But when one of Sukuna’s indestructible fingers was finally swallowed and the human body persisted rather than liquefying, he felt only glee. Incarnating in the body of a certified Jujutsu Sorcerer would have been ideal, but Sukuna was at least gratified that his host body was in peak physical condition. It was still weak by his standards, but serviceable. At least until the body fought back, and Sukuna’s tenuous control slipped.
Who the hell was this Itadori brat? He shouldn’t have had the capacity to suppress Sukuna at all.
Itadori Yuuji slapped the side of his head, as if the motion might dislodge Sukuna from his brain. “He’s kind of annoying,” Itadori commented in the same tone one would use to complain about an incessantly buzzing fly. “I can hear his voice.”
Sukuna seethed. Itadori Yuuji had no comprehension of the dark power his body now contained. Only a complete halfwit would even consider swallowing one of Sukuna's fingers, but Itadori was in a class of his own. Unfortunately for Sukuna, the depths of the brat’s idiocy had yet to be fully realized.
Sharing a body with Itadori Yuuji and lacking the ability to control said body was a detriment to Sukuna’s reputation. It didn’t reflect well on him that he was unable to overpower a foolhardy fifteen-year-old. His prestige as the King of Curses was in jeopardy.
Itadori Yuuji proved to be the worst possible host Sukuna could have been bound to. Even being an amorphous spirit of cursed energy was preferable to the inane commentary the brat inflicted on him.
There were, admittedly, some benefits to being privy to Itadori’s thoughts. Sukuna was granted a front row seat to the innermost fears Itadori never voiced, the worries he fought to suppress, and the doubts that weighed on his psyche. All of which provided fuel to taunt him.
But most of Itadori’s thoughts didn’t revolve around his innate fear of loneliness, his perceived sense of inferiority, and his worry that he would never be strong enough to protect his friends. His simple-minded brain tended to revolve around manga and food and funny memes and, worst of all, Fushiguro Megumi.
‘Fushiguro looks so good,’ Itadori thought dreamily, eyes riveted on Fushiguro’s sweatpants clad figure. Itadori’s slice of pizza sat untouched as he watched an unaware Fushiguro scarf down his dinner.
‘His mouth is stuffed full of greasy, congealed pizza,’ Sukuna pointed out in disgust.
Itadori propped his chin in his hands. ‘But he looks so cute eating pizza.’
‘He has chipmunk cheeks.’
'Chipmunks are cute.'
Sukuna was suddenly reminded of the time his idiot host had complimented Fushiguro’s appearance post-battle. Fushiguro's face had been a bruised, pulpy, bandaged mess, and Itadori had still earnestly told him he looked good. ‘You’re an idiot,’ Sukuna informed.
Sadly, the insult had lost its effect to garner a reaction from Itadori after the hundredth time Sukuna had uttered it.
Itadori soon developed the ability to tune out Sukuna’s disparagements altogether. Sukuna, meanwhile, had yet to master the ability to block out Itadori’s onslaught of idiotic thoughts.
He was subjected to a constant stream of, wow, Fushiguro even looks elegant when he’s blowing his nose and don’t his eyelashes look extra long today?
It was exhausting.
Sukuna could concede that the Zen’in whelp had potential. He was interesting. For a Jujutsu Sorcerer, anyway. But after listening to Itadori rhapsodize about him ad nauseam, Sukuna wanted nothing more than to destroy them both.
The most pitiful part of Itadori’s infatuation with Fushiguro was the fact that he didn’t seem to recognize his feelings were romantic. Instead, the moron actually asked Sukuna if it was possible to be allergic to another person.
Itadori flopped onto his bed, staring at the ceiling as if it held the answers to the universe. “Lately my throat gets all tight and I feel shaky around Fushiguro. Do you think… is he wearing a new cologne? Or using a new body wash? Maybe I’m allergic to it.”
Sukuna materialized a mouth on Itadori’s cheek. His host grimaced at the sensation, but didn’t protest. “Yes,” Sukuna deadpanned. “That’s exactly it.”
“Really?”
“No.”
“Then what’s wrong with me?”
Wasn’t that a loaded question. “Maybe you’re scared of him,” Sukuna suggested, just to fuck with him. It was Itadori’s own fault for being a moron.
“Fushiguro is kind of scary,” Itadori conceded. “He frowns a lot and he’s cranky most of the time. But I don’t think I’m scared of him. I like being around him! I… I like...”
The sound of someone knocking on Itadori’s bedroom door truncated their conversation. Itadori channeled his energy into stifling Sukuna. The additional mouth on Itadori’s cheek receded.
“Come in!” Itadori called after patting his cheek to verify that Sukuna’s mouth was gone.
Fushiguro’s dour expression greeted them. “Itadori.”
The Brat’s heart went tachycardic. Sweat accumulated along his palms. He wiped his clammy palms on his bedsheets. “H-hey Fushiguro!”
“Do you have a spare jacket I could borrow?”
“Sure!” Itadori leapt from his bed as if burned. “What happened to yours?”
“Kugisaki set it on fire.”
“She did?”
“Well, she tried to use it to put out a fire. But it wasn’t salvageable afterwards.”
“I see.” Itadori reached for his best jacket and practically threw it at Fushiguro in his eagerness. “You can use mine for as long as you need!”
“Thanks, Itadori.”
“Of course! Anytime!”
‘Why don’t you prostrate yourself and kiss his shoes while you’re at it?’ Sukuna sneered.
A flush erupted across Itadori’s face. “Goodnight, Fushiguro!”
Fushiguro blinked at the abrupt dismissal. “Ah, bye.”
Itadori closed the door in his face.
‘Smooth. He was clearly impressed by your sublime social skills.’
Itadori groaned into his hands. “I panicked. And it’s your fault!”
‘You didn’t even think to ask what caused the fire.’
“Huh? Oh, right. I hope nothing burned down.”
What an idiot.
Sukuna comforted himself with the knowledge that all teenage infatuations were short lived. They flickered, blazed, then mercifully died out. Itadori’s infatuation would run its course, probably with him being none the wiser that his deep admiration for Fushiguro was actually a crush, and he would eventually become marginally more tolerable.
At least, that was the logical conclusion.
Then came what Sukuna dubbed the shower incident.
After sparring with Kugisaki for several hours, Itadori had sweat pouring from nearly every orifice. And he smelled. If even Sukuna could detect the used-gym-socks odour, then everyone else likely could too.
‘You need to shower,’ Sukuna informed. Really, he was doing everyone a favour.
“What are you, a hygienist?”
‘I’ve smelled week old corpses that reek less than you.’
“Hey, you’d sweat too if you fought Kugisaki all day.”
‘My point still stands.’
“Fine, I’ll shower if it’ll make you shut up.”
Because of the two of them, Sukuna was clearly the one always running his mouth.
Itadori obligingly fetched a rattly looking towel from his room and a 2-in1 shampoo and conditioner before heading to the showers. He rounded the hallway, only to collide with the object of his incessant daydreams.
Fushiguro had clearly just emerged from the showers himself, if his dripping hair and state of partial nudity were indication of anything.
One of Fushiguro’s hands was fisted in the towel slung around his waist, while the other found purchase against the wall.
All the blood in Itadori’s puny brain plummeted south as his eyes tracked the meandering path of a water droplet down Fushguro’s toned chest. Sukuna worried that their body’s shared heart was about to give out.
Fushiguro cleared his throat.
Itadori’s eyes snapped up. “I, uh, like your towel.”
‘I’m pretty sure the towel isn’t what you were ogling just now.’
“Shut up,” Itadori hissed.
Fushiguro’s forehead scrunched. “I didn’t say anything?”
“Not you! I meant Sukuna.”
The crease in Fushiguro’s brow smoothed. “Does Sukuna not like my towel?”
A high, nervous laugh spilled from Itadori’s lips. He sounded like an opiate-addicted clown. “He has bad taste. In towels.”
“That’s okay. Kugisaki’s the one who bought it. She said she was tired of us using her good ones.”
“Oh.” Itadori’s gaze narrowed on another droplet of water that gathered in the dip of Fushiguro’s collarbone. “That makes sense.”
Sukuna could tell Itadori hadn’t processed a single word Fushiguro had uttered.
“She got it on sale,” Fushiguro added.
“On sale,” Itadori echoed dumbly. “That’s great! Gotta love sales.”
How was this simultaneously the weirdest and dullest conversation Sukuna had ever been forced to bear witness to? If he had any empathy for humans, he would be cringing from second hand embarrassment. But he didn’t, so he resorted to rolling his eyes and exuding disdain.
“Mm,” Fushiguro hummed in acknowledgement. “I should get dressed.”
Sukuna half expected Itadori to suggest Fushiguro lose the towel instead.
“Okay. Sure. See you.”
Itadori stared after Fushiguro, lingering on his bizarre spiked nest of hair and the spot of shampoo behind the back of his ear that he’d failed to wash away. “Shit,” Itadori said, ever the soul of brevity. “I think I might be bisexual?”
Well, duh. And Sukuna might be the mass-murdering, chaos-inciting King of Curses. ‘What clued you in? Was it your tendency to salivate when you come within five feet of someone with a dick?’
Itadori made a gurgling noise. “Man, why do you have to be so crass all the time?”
‘I’m not a ‘man.’ I’m a god.’
Itadori huffed. “Right now you’re just a nuisance.”
Sukuna calmed himself by imagining the various ways he could dismember and eviscerate his host.
Sukuna couldn’t pinpoint when or why Itadori began treating him as a confidante and live-in therapist instead of the formidable cursed spirit that he was, but he needed to put a stop to it. After the shower incident, Itadori's feeble brain became even more devoted to daydreaming about Fushiguro, and he seemed to think, for whatever woefully flawed reason, that Sukuna was equally invested in his love life.
“Oi, Sukuna.” Itadori tapped his pen against his notebook. He’d been sitting at his desk for over half an hour ostensibly doing trigonometry homework, although Sukuna knew for a fact that triangles and Pythagorean theorem were not on his mind. “Have you ever been with a man?”
Sukuna inwardly cringed. He could sense where this conversation was headed. Sukuna formed a mouth on Itadori’s cheek. When Itadori wasn’t consciously suppressing him, it wasn’t difficult to do this much. “I’m an equal opportunist when it comes to slaking my lust.”
“Really? How did you do it?”
Inside his domain, Sukuna arched an eyebrow and projected his disbelief. “You want me to explain the logistics of gay sex?”
“No!” Itadori’s face immolated. He waved his hands spastically, upending his stack of books. “I meant the seducing part!”
“I’m not some virgin mentor!”
Itadori let out an indignant squawk. “Why do you think I’m a virgin?”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to, Brat.”
Itadori’s lower lip jutted in a pout. “That sounds like virgin shaming.” He proceeded to rattle off why shaming people for lack of a sexual history was ignorant and shaming virgins was really mean, as if Sukuna even remotely cared.
“What about killing virgins? Can I do that?”
“No! No killing virgins.”
“So just kill the non-virgins, then. Got it.”
“That sounds like slut shaming.”
There was no pleasing him.
Itadori lapsed into silence. Unfortunately, he wasn't capable of maintaining silence for very long.
"Hey, Sukuna."
His patience expired. He refused to answer. If he ignored Itadori, there was a chance he'd shut up.
"What do you think I should do about my Fushiguro problem?"
Sukuna tried to meditate. He thought of tranquil subjects. Beheadings. Bamboo torture. Boiling people alive.
Itadori continued, undeterred. "Should I tell him how I feel? Or would that make things weird between us? It would probably make things weird." A pause that lasted approximately ten seconds. "But what if it didn't? Do you think... he might like me back? If he did, would we be, like, boyfriends?"
"I DON'T CARE!"
"Okay, I hear you." Itadori chewed on the back of his pen thoughtfully. "But let's say, hypothetically, that you did care. What would you suggest?"
What had Sukuna ever done to deserve this? Admittedly, he had murdered countless people, but honestly. "I think you should tell Fushiguro Megumi how you feel."
"Really?"
If Fushiguro reciprocated, Itadori would stop pestering him. Contrarily, if the Brat got rejected for whatever reason, he'd be miserable and Sukuna could revel in his mental anguish. He summoned a bored voice. “What do you have to lose?”
“How can I be sure Fushiguro likes me back?”
Sukuna’s irritation festered. “His pupils dilate, his skin temperature rises, and his respiration increases whenever you’re in close physical proximity.”
“Wait, do you think he’s scared of me?”
Sukuna groaned. “Just exorcise me already.” He deserved to be put out of his misery.
"I feel like you're not taking this seriously."
“Why don't you go ask that ridiculous blindfolded teacher of yours for advice?”
“No way! This is way too embarrassing to talk about with anyone.”
“Then why are you telling me?”
“Well, we're in this together, you know?”
“No, I don’t know, because we are not in this together.” This wasn’t one of the absurd animes Itadori liked to watch where the world was saved through the power of friendship. "Even if Fushiguro doesn't return your feelings, isn't it better to know? I never took you for cowardly."
“Right. Good thinking.” Itadori shrugged his shoulders back. “Sukuna Matata.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“It means no worries.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” All he did know was that he wanted to torture Itadori Yuuji more than usual.
Itadori did not end up confessing his feelings to Fushiguro. Instead, he continuously invented reasons why it was bad timing. "It's a full moon tonight, and people are more unpredictable on full moons" or "Fushiguro keeps sitting with the second years and I don't want them to judge me if I get rejected" or "Gojo-sensei did my tarot reading and he said the stars aren't in my favour."
'Wouldn't it be hilarious if you took too long to confess and Fushiguro started dating someone else?'
"What?" Itadori crowed. "Like who? Do you know something? You'd tell me if you knew something, right?"
A mouth materialized on Itadori's hand entirely for the purpose of allowing Sukuna to blow a raspberry at him. Itadori smacked his hand against the wall, but Sukuna's mouth had already disappeared.
"Ow," Itadori muttered. He shook out his hand before blowing out a deep breath. "Fine. Today’s the day I’m gonna tell Fushiguro how I feel.”
'Then how come you're walking towards your bedroom? You realize he's in the training center, right?' He was already off to an abysmal start.
"I can't just confess like this. I have to get ready first." Itadori marched to the washroom. He examined his reflection in the mirror. He plucked and combed his eyebrows, which Sukuna ridiculed mercilessly. He then spent an absurd amount of time gelling and styling his hair, only to decide the excess of gel made it look greasy. He washed out the gel and reapplied a smaller amount.
“If I put on some of Kugisaki’s eyeliner, would it look like I’m trying too hard?"
Sukuna wasn’t sure why he answered, but in his defense, spending eternity isolated in his domain made for a dull existence. ‘Yes, it would. Also, you shouldn’t share eye makeup.’
“Really? Why not?”
‘You could get an eye infection, for one.’ Sukuna paused. ‘Actually, on second thought, go ahead.’ Any discomfort the Brat endured meant entertainment for him.
Itadori ignored him in favour of testing seductive expressions in front of the mirror. He tilted his mouth in a smirk, leaned his head back, and propped a hand on hip. “Do I look alluring?”
'You look like an idiot.' Which, to be fair, was no different from how Itadori usually looked.
Itadori made a petulant moue. “Whatever. I’m going to get dressed.”
Once inside his room, Itadori plucked a mustard yellow shirt from a laundry pile of dubious cleanliness.
'Really? Khaki shorts with that shirt?'
“I’m not taking outfit advice from someone who wears the same ugly dress all day,” Itadori retorted.
The brat's insolence knew no bounds. 'Wha—I do not wear dresses!
“And not even a cute dress. If I was gonna wear a dress I’d pick one that actually looks nice. With, like, frills.”
'It’s a montsuki. A formal robe,' Sukuna growled. Did the brat have any knowledge of traditional Japanese attire? What did they teach kids in schools nowadays? Was Japanese history completely neglected?
After Itadori settled on an outfit that he deemed suitable, he hunted for good pickup lines on his phone.
'Those all sound inane,' Sukuna helpfully informed.
“As if you could do any better.”
Sukuna glowered, not that Itadori would be able to see it. He’d had enough of the Brat’s insolence. 'I’ve bedded more humans in my lifetime than you’ve met.'
“Did you use protection? ‘Cause that sounds like a recipe for STDs.”
'Excuse me?'
“I’m not shaming you,” Itadori hastened to add. “But you really should use condoms!” He tilted his head. “Wait, you’re, like, super old. Did condoms even exist back then?”
'Sheep or pig intestines were used as condoms.' Although Sukuna had foregone the use of contraceptives. As a cursed spirit, he could neither catch nor spread human diseases.
“Gross.”
'If you think pickup lines are going to help you, you’re an even bigger fool than I thought.'
“Fine.” Itadori pocketed his phone. "What would you suggest?”
'It’s all about making a gesture.'
“Like what?”
Sukuna pondered. Most of the time, he had humans lining up to copulate with him, but he’d played the role of seducer on several occasions. 'I used to present my paramours with human hearts.'
Itadori’s face scrunched up. “Why?”
Wasn’t it self explanatory? 'To prove my power and strength.'
“Couldn’t you have done pushups or something instead? What were they supposed to do with the hearts anyway?”
'Eat them.'
“Oh, ew.” Itadori made a gagging noise. "I think I'll just wing it."
Itadori had difficulty tracking down Fushiguro until Sukuna reminded the idiot that texting was, in fact, something that existed. He texted Fushiguro to meet him under the cherry blossom tree (he'd clearly been reading too much shojo manga). Fushiguro was prompt in providing a response and Itadori didn't have to wait long for him to arrive.
Itadori went still, breath hung in suspension as he watched Fushiguro approach. "Hey Fushiguro!" He waved so hard that Sukuna half expected him to dislocate his wrist.
Fushiguro nodded in response. "Itadori. Is everything alright? Your text sounded urgent."
“Yeah! Everything's great. I was just wondering, do you want to… that is, would you like to go—" Itadori’s throat seized up.
Fushiguro leaned forward.
“Spar with me?”
Fushiguro wasn’t the easiest to read. Where Itadori telegraphed his emotions on his face, Fushiguro dissembled his, but there was no mistaking the flash of disappointment that crossed his usual neutral expression.
This was unbearable. Sukuna couldn’t deal with this pathetic pining anymore. It was easier to form a mouth on Itadori’s body when the Brat was side-tracked and not consciously suppressing him. Sukuna channeled his energy into forming a mouth on Itadori’s cheek. “He wants to ravish you.”
“No! I don’t!” Itadori waved his arms. In his flailing, he managed to get his shirt caught on a tree branch. “No ravishing!”
Fushiguro tilted his head, as if trying to gauge whether Sukuna had been truthful. Finally, his posture relaxed. “I wouldn’t be opposed.”
Huh. Fushiguro Megumi was much suaver than Sukuna’s pitiful vessel. Though he suspected the two had equivalent levels of sexual experience. Which was to say, absolutely none.
"Wait, really?"
Fushiguro scuffed his shoe against the ground. "Unless you were joking and don't want to."
"No! I mean, yes, I do want to. Go out with you, I mean. Not ravish. Not that I wouldn't want to ravish you but..."
“When did you start liking me?” Fushiguro asked. He plucked at a loose thread on his shirt in a gesture that was probably meant to look casual but only betrayed his nerves.
Itadori scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. “Well, I only figured it out recently, but I think I’ve had feelings for you for ages.”
“You think,” Fushiguro repeated. “That’s not very reassuring.”
Heat suffused Itadori’s face. “Shut up. You know what I mean.”
“Do I?”
“Well, how long have you had feelings for me?”
“I used to think you were kind of an idiot,” Fushiguro admitted. ‘Kind of’ was an understatement, in Sukuna’s personal well-informed opinion. “But I was in awe of you, too. You’re brave and strong and selfless.”
“And you think I’m hot, right?”
A huff of laughter escaped the usually reticent shaman. "You're all right, I guess."
Itadori beamed as if Fushiguro had paid him the highest compliment and waxed lyrical about him. Sukuna was starting to second guess helping his vessel, but surely things would get easier now that Itadori no longer had a need to constantly pester Sukuna for relationship advice.
Sukuna cursed Itadori Yuuji. And Fushiguro Megumi. And himself for being stupid enough to help them get together. As it turned out, a love-struck Itadori was even worse than a pining one.
Sukuna had never lamented his circumstances more than he did now. He spent as much time as possible ensconced in his domain, but the ensuing boredom proved equally torturous, and Itadori's saccharine thoughts about Fushiguro often percolated the barrier of his domain anyway.
Itadori's flirting was nauseating and even when he and Fushiguro weren't together, Itadori wouldn't shut up about how nice Fushiguro smelled and how cute he was when he blushed.
Worst of all were the clumsy makeout sessions they engaged in with the regularity of an Olympian following a strict training regiment.
Sukuna was forced to tune out their loud, sloppy kisses, but with little success. 'Did you know more than eighty million bacteria are transferred when you kiss someone?' he asked in a last ditch attempt.
Yuuji pulled back, severing the kiss. His legs were tangled with Fushiguro's on the armchair that wasn't designed for more than one person. “Stop watching us make out, you perv!”
Fushiguro coughed to cover his laughter. “Just ignore him.”
Itadori leaned back in, his lips brushing Fushiguro's.
Unbelievable. Even after all Sukuna had done for them, his ungrateful host acted like he was the annoying one.