Work Text:
Yuuji cannot make a single mistake, or he’ll die. It’s that simple.
This curse - Choso? - is more than Yuuji can handle, and he knows that, but it doesn’t matter. So long as Yuuji doesn’t make a single mistake, he can win, and someone else can step in to save Gojo-sensei. Someone like Nanamin.
All Yuuji needs to do is win, barring that, injure this guy so badly that someone else can finish him off easily.
No mistakes.
Yuuji crosses his arms over his head as a clot of poisoned blood bursts by his ear in a firework of needle sharp pain. Each splatter pierces Yuuji like a morning star, puncturing dozens of tiny holes over his arm, the side of his neck.
The water pouring from the sprinklers overhead dampens the impact to be ‘negligible’. If Yuuji can call it that at all; but Yuuji’s head would be pasted on the wall otherwise - the thought is sobering. The attack brings the curse, close enough for Yuuji to try and slam an elbow reinforced with cursed energy into his solar plexus.
Yuuji’s elbow connects, sinking past soaking clothing, and slamming so hard into Choso’s body that it feels like Yuuji rammed his elbow into a concrete wall at full speed.
That body! Why’s he so tough? Why’s the gap between them so large?
No matter how hard Yuuji trains, he’s always lagging behind.
Now isn’t the time to be worrying about that.
Yuuji allows the majority of his cursed energy to hit with a delay, hoping to catch Choso off guard.
It works, slightly, and Choso recoils as his ribs crack ominously.
The hand he’d pierced to create the burst knots in Yuuji’s hair, the blood washing away before he could make it into a spike to drive through Yuuji’s skull.
Yuuji has a split second choice to make, as he feels Choso’s arm tense; resist, or move with whatever Choso has planned?
Yuuji choses to flow along with Choso’s force, and throws his weight in Choso’s direction as he tries to drag Yuuji in, other hand curled into a claw, aimed for Yuuji’s liver again.
The blood loss makes Yuuji’s reactions slower, but he gets his arm between Choso’s wrist and his own body, catching the curse’s arm in his elbow as Yuuji pushes up to divert the strike over his shoulder.
Choso’s thumb still catches Yuuji’s shoulder, and blood bursts hot down Yuuji’s chest, washing away with the cold spray of the sprinklers.
Every minute movement of Yuuji’s arm stings, from the twitching of his fingers to the flex of his bicep as he shoves away from Choso, ducking under Choso’s arm to put space between them.
Not a mistake, not the end of the world, but very, very, close. If Choso had been a few centimetres faster, he could have popped Yuuji’s shoulder out of its socket.
Or ripped it off entirely.
Both were possible, and judging by the dead eyed stare and the flat line of Choso’s mouth, he certainly wouldn’t be cut up about Yuuji suffering before he dies.
Yuuji tries to shift his weight past Choso as they detangle, keeping his front facing his opponent, and his shoe hits blood and water on the floor, a hair away from Choso’s boots.
Choso’s leg snaps out, using his superior leg length to get his knee into the meat of Yuuji’s thigh.
It’s enough.
Yuuji’s footing slips on the viscous fluid mixed on the floor, his heel sliding out too far, hips screaming at the sudden and uncomfortable stretch. Yuuji knows he’s definitely pulled a muscle in his groin with the way his leg hurts from his knee to his spine.
As Yuuji drops, leg collapsing under his weight and the strain, Choso catches him with both hands on the front of Yuuji’s uniform, two fingers pressing into the hole Choso’s already made in Yuuji’s torso, before throwing him bodily backward, Yuuji’s heels leaving the floor.
Lifted in the air, Yuuji doesn’t have the opportunity to recover, and can only make sure his landing is favourable.
This, he thinks, with a stomach that drops in time with his body, is a mistake.
His body hits the tile, head cracking hard enough off the floor that Yuuji’s seeing stars, and immediately feels hot blood tangling his hair at the crown of his head. Water from the sprinklers splashes in his eyes, stinging and blinding him.
The cleated platform of Choso’s boot slams into Yuuji’s ribs, and Yuuji reinforces them just enough that they don’t break. When Choso raises his leg to stomp down again, Yuuji kicks off the floor with his good leg, and slides away, toward the door out of the bathroom.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
If they’re out from under the spray, Choso’s blood technique will be back at it’s full effectiveness, and Yuuji really will die.
Yuuji braces, waiting for the next swing of Choso’s leg, aimed for his side now, and catches it, intentionally taking the kick, but using the momentum to rotate his body under Choso’s, clinging to his ankle with wet fingers. If he can get his leg up in time, and hit Choso in the back of the thigh, or knee, Yuuji can stagger him enough to stand.
Choso slams his foot down on Yuuji’s arm, before Yuuji can.
Directly under Choso is not where Yuuji wants to be, but it’s better than out of the water.
Yuuji catches Choso’s eyes for a split second, and watches his pupils dilate until they’re nearly black above the jagged arrows of blood on his cheeks.
What?
Choso drops his weight entirely onto Yuuji’s shoulders with his knees, pinning Yuuji in place.
The shoulder which is already wounded positively screams with agony, and Yuuji’s hand spasms. Before Yuuji can get his good arm up to destabilise Choso’s centre of gravity, Choso’s hands close on Yuuji’s throat, thumbs pinching over his carotids.
Yuuji gasps, and slaps his hand wetly against Choso’s side. He doesn’t have much time - doesn’t know how long, exactly, it’ll take until he passes out, but knows without a doubt that he will if Choso keeps digging his thumbs in.
“You took my brothers away,” Choso whispers, “Perhaps I should show you the strength of our blood as punishment?”
“Do you even deserve such mercy?”
Yuuji shoves as hard as he can, trying to twist his hips to use the breadth of his ribs to knock Choso off. With the pulled muscle in his groin, and the steady throbbing pain in his liver as he bleeds out, however, Yuuji can’t get enough strength into his roll.
His hands and feet are freezing, and numb. The lack of feeling is creeping up his legs, his lips cold on his own face. There’s blackness at the corners of his vision, and his limbs are growing heavy.
When Choso shifts his knees off of Yuuji’s shoulders, to under them, Yuuji can’t resist effectively, his reactions delayed and bleary as he tries to break Choso’s hold on his neck with his good arm.
Blackness finally covers Yuuji’s vision, and he’s released from the sting of cold water dripping into his eyes from the ends of Choso’s hair. There’s a faint moment of vertigo, but Yuuji can’t make out why, precisely.
This is it then, the end.
Yet, Yuuji doesn’t die.
He has no idea how much time passes, seconds, minutes, hours, before he’s no longer choking on water, instead sprawled out on his back, blinking at fluorescent lights.
It smells like gore, the slick offal smell of Mahito’s mutilated transmogrified humans, and the train oil and iron smell of Shibuya station.
Yuuji isn’t dead, and the water’s gone.
He tries to shake himself loose of his confusion, and tries to force himself up onto his side, back to his feet. His shoulder and his leg nearly give out, but he grits his teeth and forces himself through the pain.
He’s still soaking wet, dripping with blood and water, so it clearly hasn’t been long. A minute? Two?
Something slick wraps around his wrist, and yanks his arm out from under him hard enough that Yuuji’s head goes careening back into the tiles, and bounces off them. The blood from the cut on his face surges out with a vengeance, working with his probable concussion to worsen his mental state.
Up, up, up, Yuuji needs to get up .
A tight grasp, viscous, sticky, wraps around each ankle like twisting vines and yanks Yuuji’s legs apart, drags him flat on his back. He cries out, finally, at the pain of having his sprained leg pulled on so cruelly.
The lighting flickers and blinds him overhead.
Yuuji pulls his free arm up in front of his face to block it, any protection better than none, and Yuuji is treated to the sight of a tendril of coagulated blood, lumpy, dripping, winding around his wrist and pulling taut. Blood that isn’t Yuuji’s drips onto his cheek, runs down it over the crease of Sukuna’s eyelid.
The limbs of blood heave Yuuji into the air, and his own weight presses on his wounds, causing his vision to flash again. He has no time to recover, to clear his disorientation before he’s facing Choso again.
The tendrils of blood rise from Choso’s back, like wings, and there are more, a webbing system of capillaries which throbs like a living thing.
The shadow they cast on the floor looks like the bottom of a leaf.
Yuuji tastes copper at the back of his throat, and his head grows heavy from his blood loss. His body grows heavier by the second, lashes fluttering, “‘M sorry…” He slurs out. “Didn’t wanna…kill anybody,” Yuuji’s tongue feels like a fat slug in his mouth, barely co-operating.
“So why did you?” Choso asks, cold and clear, and Yuuji flinches at the snap of his voice.
It’s not like Yuuji can explain to him now that he would have died, Kugisaki would have died, if he hadn’t killed Choso’s brothers. Yuuji doesn’t think it would matter, even if he could.
Choso steps closer, and the tendrils of blood twitch and surge outward, and Yuuji can’t help but think of a video he watched with Fushiguro once, of slime mould growing on a timelapse.
It’s the same, jerky, living movement, the cursed blood splintering and reaching for Yuuji.
It touches his skin and sticks, sinking under the collar of his uniform, and spreading over his chest like wildfire.
The blood settles over Yuuji’s punctured liver and hardens. It hurts like an infection, a feverish ache. Poison.
“You won’t bleed out,” Choso promises. “Yet.”
His palm cups Yuuji’s cheek, and the heat of his skin is startling against how cold Yuuji is.
The net of blood over Yuuji’s chest tightens, and inches over his arms. It feels like fingers, and leaves a greasy residue on his skin. Yuuji shivers, and gags when he feels the blood drip under his waistline. “”Please,” he whispers.
Choso doesn’t let go of his face.
One of the larger veins slithers into Yuuji’s limited field of view, levels with his mouth.
This can’t be happening.
Choso is still watching him with eyes blown black. His lips are parted with interest, like a child being cruel because they don’t know any better.
The vein nudges against Yuuji’s lips. It smells like raw meat and copper.
Yuuji squeezes his eyes shut, and shakes his head.
The vein presses past his lips, capillaries bursting out of it to pry Yuuji’s jaw open as it slides over his tongue. They feel like hair, wrapping his tongue and teeth to hold him open.
The taste is worse than the smell, by far, and the texture of the vein like clumping, curdling milk. It pours, leaking, into the back of Yuuji’s mouth, past his tongue, and into his throat.
It’s not big enough to choke him, but writhes and bleeds its awful taste into him.
Choso makes a soft sound, and Yuuji can’t tell what it is because of the ringing in his ears.
It feels like the vein reaches Yuuji’s stomach, and finally, Yuuji gags.
Choso gasps, seemingly surprised, and Yuuji can recognise the sheer vulgarity in that sound, like it is some other part of Choso he is choking on.
Yuuji clamps his jaw down, horrified, angry , trying to bite the appendage off. It feels like melting tar between his teeth, surging to stick to his teeth in a mould of his mouth, sealing off Yuuji’s air supply.
The sudden suffocation has Yuuji coughing, releasing the vein in a panic from between his teeth. Blood squirts into his mouth, sluicing over his tongue, seeping out from between his lips and over his chin.
Yuuji chokes on it, hacking wetly, his throat convulsing around the vein until blood is spurting out of Yuuji’s nose as he tries to clear his airway. Drowning, and being forced to swallow Choso’s blood.
The blood which drips from Yuuji’s mouth and nose coagulates on his chest, forming an artery from his chin to his navel, the smaller vessels winding in with a wet squeak.
The artery keeps growing, clotting, growing thicker. It throbs with a heightened pulse against Yuuji’s skin as it presses under his waistband, venturing further downward.
Yuuji wants to scream and thrash, but he can’t.
It leads with a touch like a questing finger, prodding curiously through Yuuji’s pubic hair, splitting like the roots of a tree to enclose his hips and thighs in its vascular system. The main artery skirts Yuuji’s penis, the girth of it curving around the base, and reaching down over Yuuji’s balls.
It tickles.
It feels disgusting.
Yuuji struggles as much as he can against the veins holding his arms and legs, attempting to tear free with cursed energy. One last push, that’s all he has.
On his good arm and leg a multitude of the vessels burst in a gory mist, splattering Choso, the walls, the floor and Yuuji.
The droplets roll and rejoin the colony, reforming stronger blood ties.
The artery continues, unimpeded, up Yuuji’s perineum, until it presses against his entrance. As the tip presses into him, soft and wet and wrong, Yuuji tenses his body, trying to clamp it out.
He’s treated to the awful feeling of wetness seeping up into his body.
The artery blooms like spreading hands over Yuuji’s ass, digging in to spread his cheeks as it crawls further and further inside.
The worst part is that it doesn’t hurt. It feels weird, certainly, chunky fluid flowing up and through him, but Yuuji can only really feel that at his entrance.
The veins at his ankles spread upward, under his pants, until they meet and entwine with those wrapped around his groin, a complete system over his own, trapping him.
Yuuji shakes his head, wheezing, tugging at his arms and legs, trying to escape.
“This is the bloodline you tried to snuff out,” Choso traces a finger over the artery which runs down Yuuji’s chest, and Yuuji feels the vein down his throat undulate. “You’ll drown in our blood.”
Yuuji’s stomach roils, and then begins to hurt.
Choso’s shoulders tense for a moment, and then he sighs. Yuuji can see, even with his blurred, dimming vision, as the veins which writhe from Choso’s body into Yuuji’s swell with bursts of blood.
The taste of copper and spoiled fruits coats Yuuji’s tongue, filling his throat as more of Choso’s poisoned blood pumps into Yuuji.
He can feel it dripping down his thighs from the artery in his bowels.
The pressure in Yuuji’s stomach turns to cramps, and then nausea. Yuuji tries to speak, Please, take it out, please, please, and his oesophagus spasms. His guts spasm.
Then Yuuji is puking up blood and bile, and he can’t breathe. Yuuji struggles, frantically, against the vessels wrapping his body. His thrashing breaks the smaller ones, reinforcing the larger ones.
It doesn’t matter, because he can’t breathe, and Choso moves to stand closer to him, hands bracing on Yuuji’s chest, feather light.
Yuuji can’t really feel them, and the vision of Choso’s shoulders hitching up as the blood pumps from his body into Yuuji’s is fading quickly.
Each second throws Yuuji’s thoughts somewhere further and further from his body, and he knows, distantly, that he’s going to die. He’s going to suffocate on someone else’s blood.
Slowly, his body falls slack, Choso’s blood surging out from Yuuji’s mouth and nose, down his legs, cycling back into the bloodlines he’s wrapped Yuuji in.
Before Yuuji loses consciousness, he wonders if he has more of Choso’s blood in his body, or his own?
The Itadori boy slumps, held aloft in Choso’s technique, in the extension of his body. It feels good, erotic. The first sprouts begin to take root, inside his stomach as it runs over with Choso’s blood, opening to cut Itadori’s blood with Choso’s own.
They mingle, familiar.
The same.
Choso is struck by the vision of Itadori turning golden eyes up to him, calling him brother . Family . Their blood is the same .
Itadori’s body twitches, threatening death throws.
Choso rips his technique from Itadori - from Yuuji's body as quickly as he can, bloody tears dripping down his cheeks. The appendages leave no damage, but there is nothing Choso can do for the bile that Yuuji vomited along with Choso’s blood.
The same blood.
Brothers.
Blood brothers.
Choso’s youngest brother. The baby.
Choso drops to his knees with Yuuji, catching him in his arms, and laying him on the floor as Choso shakes.
He violated Yuuji, the same way his mother was violated.
Choso remembers . He was created by That Man, and was taken from his Mother’s body, and made to watch.
That Man changed him, changed his brothers, the same way Choso forced himself on Yuuji; his baby brother .
Choso recoils, face in his hands, hyperventilating.
He can’t stay. He can’t comfort his brother.
Choso can’t do anything for Yuuji, because he was the one who made him like this.
Choso stumbles away, and falls, once, before he can get his feet underneath him. He can’t stay here. He can’t.
When he tucks himself into a small cubby, safe from his own blood in the restroom where this all began, Choso wonders how he can live with himself; the eldest committing the sins of the father on the youngest? Impossible, impossible.