Chapter Text
Yuuji didn’t know what was going to happen to him when he dived to take Gojo Satoru’s place— all he knew is that he was expendable, the attack looked like it wouldn’t be affected by Infinity, and he was Sukuna’s vessel, while Gojo Satoru was Gojo Satoru.
Everything was simple in Yuuji’s head; the world needed Satoru and did not need him.
In the brief, flashing moment where he was being sealed, Yuuji looked to the man he’d let go of his worthless life for. Satoru’s blindfold was off, his mesmerizing blue eyes torn wide from shock. Maybe it’s pointless, but Yuuji lights up with a strained smile, trying to reassure him that he’ll be okay, even if he doesn’t believe it himself.
Regrets bubble under Yuuji’s skin, as does a confession he doesn’t have enough time for. If he could’ve, Yuuji would assure Satoru that he trusts him with his life. Yuuji would admit how he is thankful for letting him live like a real person. Corniness be damned, if Yuuji only had time, he would declare to Satoru how much he’s grown to respect him— that he thinks he’s been feeling something a bit deeper lately. But, he’s being sealed and he doesn’t have the time for his perfect romantic confession.
Promptly crushed and filed away, Yuuji leaves the real world with Satoru’s face carved deeply into the stone tablet of his mind.
Hugged tightly by four numbingly grey walls, bodily discomfort soon proves to be the least of Yuuji’s worries. He can’t ignore the tightness of the space. Cursed energy presses into him from both the outside and inside of his body, stealing air from his lungs. At first, it’s just the dense energy of the realm, but after long enough, Yuuji’s core of cursed energy cracks under the constraints, hemorrhaging acid from the pressure wound. Yuuji’s stomach sinks as he recognizes the familiar bite of Sukuna’s wrath teething up against him, like the King of Curses is just about to pull him under and take control.
”What the hell did you do, brat?” Sukuna’s accusation comes as a low hiss from Yuuji’s own mouth.
Yuuji makes a strangled half-wheeze, half laugh, “Aw, mad that you’re stuck with me?”
The enraged growl emanating from his own mouth sounds lethal. Yuuji can’t help but take a small hit of satisfaction from Sukuna’s rage. After everything he’d put Yuuji through, it was nice to have a little dealt back.
The in-between moments before possession were the worst, but if there’s one good thing about a prison realm, it’s that there’s nobody around for Sukuna to hurt. Feeling crushed under the weight of Sukuna’s cursed energy, Yuuji waits, starting to anticipate, even hope to be taken over, but it just doesn’t happen. The grating limbo raging inside him is agony for Yuuji, but it’s torture for Sukuna.
Just as Yuuji is being invaded with Sukuna’s soul, so is Sukuna being attacked with Yuuji’s, damaging the barrier separating Vessel and Possessor.
Sukuna, with all his knowledge of the ins and outs of cursed energy, recognized how painfully inadequate this realm was for two individuals, let alone such a potent duo as The King of Curses and his Container. In a rare moment of mounting desperation, Sukuna tries his binding vow— Enchain, hoping to somehow shock back steady ownership of their body. Though the word hangs in their ears, and Sukuna feels the tugging of the vow, he’s soon let down by the telltale snap of the vow breaking, nullified. Barely minutes into their confinement, Yuuji’s and Sukuna’s energies were already too muddied for the vow to keep any meaning.
Panic had crept into both of them by then— Yuuji’s thoughts slip into Sukuna’s mind, and Sukuna’s into Yuuji’s, emotions tangling in ugly, painful knots where they clashed.
It’s okay- Satoru knows I’m here. He won’t let me rot in here with him. He’ll get us out. A foolishly sincere part of Yuuji, and now Sukuna, believed just that. But in the meantime, the realm would cut and squeeze and knead the pair to fit.
For Megumi, Nobara, Namami and the other cavalry who arrived to see Gojo Satoru at Shibuya best described what they saw with a simple word; massacre.
The higher ups, despite not being present, disagreed. The words they tossed through the air paved the incident over as a glowing success. Sukuna had been sealed and the pesky Disaster Curses were dead. The precious status quo remained unblemished. According to the counsel, a better outcome could not have been reached, proven by their self-satisfied smiles and the undeserved congratulations they gifted each other with.
In the meeting itself, Itadori Yuuji’s name was spoken once and once only. A relic of a woman, who thought herself very moral and sympathetic for doing so, brought him up to thank him, shortly remarking it as a terrible shame a technically innocent boy had to be sacrificed to achieve peace.
If the people in that room were the only ones involved, that was the account Yuuji would leave behind in the world, one of an overlooked martyr. But that would be easier said than done for the higher-ups. Yuuji had an advocate, Gojo Satoru himself.
Livid didn’t scrape the surface of the scratching desperation Satoru felt in the wake of Yuuji’s sacrifice.
It’d been his fault. He was strong enough to prevent it, but a moment of distraction caused his complete dominance to falter for just a moment. And a moment was all it took to lose his student. All he could think about was Yuuji, trapped and alone with the curse he hated, Ryoumen Sukuna. For anyone who had a brain, that would be enough of a reason on its own to demand Yuuji’s immediate release.
Naturally, the higher-ups opposed it. It was safer for the world, supposedly, if Yuuji remained trapped with Sukuna in the prison realm. Their opinion didn’t change upon the discovery of eleven more of Sukuna’s fingers— the opportunity to destroy them was right in front of their faces, but they remained stubborn. They dismissed Satoru’s own confidence that he could- and would- be able to kill Sukuna.
Satoru too remained relentless. He leveraged his position and power as much as he could without outright destroying the entire upper rings, his self-control being tested at an all-time high. However, their stalemate remained firm, because as much as he loathed to admit it, they did have leverage of their own. Tengen was the only one who had a hope of unsealing Yuuji, and Satoru didn’t have access— even if he somehow forced his way into the tomb, which he had considered many times, Tengen wasn’t likely to cave to his demands after going rogue.
Patience wasn’t something Satoru had in spades, but for Yuuji he would try. And damnit did he try. For months, Satoru poked up at the Jujutsu Higher-Ups’ doors. Meeting after meeting he sat through, never letting the topic of Yuuji go, never letting them get too comfortable while he was sealed. For a bunch of brittle fossils, their convictions were steel. In every interaction the board was united; Yuuji wasn’t to be let go under any circumstance. End of story.
Months stretched into a year, and the anniversary of Yuuji’s sealing forced Satoru to broaden his horizons beyond Tengen and the brick wall of Jujutsu high society. He looked to other cursed objects in Japan, tried to scavenge the non-existent information about whatever possessed Geto’s body (a dead end, of course, he was too pissed to leave anything for investigation when he dealt with the impostor). Many late nights were spent at the study in Satoru’s house. The space itself, which was previously untouched, became a dense jungle of papers. Scattered across every surface, with no interest to organization or common sense, were research documents on the nature of seals, accounts of the prison’s inner workings, and even experimental theory on cursed energy itself, all of which he crammed into his brain despite being allergic to the dry, intellectual side of Jujutsu sorcery. Prodigies didn’t have to work like this; he felt like he was reading a how-to book on breathing when studying Jujutsu texts.
Satoru keeps things together when he’s with Nobara and Megumi. They don’t really understand his position. In the first few months, it was questions on why he couldn’t just force his way in, throw his power around and boom- day saved, Yuuji freed! Now that well over a year has come and gone, they start to nudge him toward an equally stupid goal; moving on.
The pair haven’t forgotten Yuuji. They both carry a bit more weight and maturity on their shoulders, world-weary and jaded by the second loss of their friend, and the empty slot in their three-person team can’t be ignored, but Yuuji doesn’t haunt them like he does Satoru. If they’d been there, been the direct witnesses of Yuuji’s piercingly bright smile, saw the smothering, unyielding trust in his eyes, and then felt that ripped away firsthand, they’d feel just as responsible not to move forward.
Yuuji can’t move forward; the world spins without him. Satoru can’t stop the earth from turning. He would if he could- and if he stays up too long, he really starts considering stretching the limits of his Cursed Technique- but he can’t, so he’ll wait instead, and he will wait as long as Yuuji needs him to.
Nanami manages to coax that out of him during a late evening of drinks. Dower as always, Nanami withers Satoru with a deep, disapproving pity. He calls it unhealthy. This is why sorcery is insane, he mumbles, finishing his cocktail before wordlessly leaving.
Satoru is just happy he didn’t accidentally reveal that he had Yuuji’s box with him right then, because that’d really earn him an earful.
It’d become a habit to bring the box wherever he went. The higher-ups allowed it; they knew that he couldn’t do anything to unseal him. The arrangement was strictly practical at first. Satoru was simply keeping track of it, his responsibility because he was Yuuji’s sensei and the most capable of ensuring its safety. Over time, though, he began to wonder if Yuuji was at all aware of what was going on outside. None of the accounts about the box described anything like that, but he couldn’t get the thought out of his mind. He rested Yuuji’s box beside windows or in front of the TV instead of restraining it in a dark, boring place like a vault. During late nights, Satoru took the box out to watch movies, holding it in his lap while he personally made it through all four installments of the ‘Human Earthworm’ series. Anything with Jennifer Lawrence also made its way onto his personal watchlist. He did not compare himself to her at all. That would be petty and unfair. For her. She might be Yuuji’s type, but Satoru is objectively better-looking.
Satoru doesn’t know if it’s strictly ‘healthy’ to try new food and think about how much Yuuji would’ve enjoyed it, or keep up on cooking shows Yuuji used to watch so he’ll be able to catch Yuuji up when he’s back. He doesn’t know when the list of plans for Yuuji and him got so big, but he doesn’t slow down in making them. Those lists comprise the only organized drawer in his house. When he flexes his power, he imagines himself protecting Yuuji more than he’d like to admit, making up fake, self-indulgent damsel stories.
When Satoru makes a breakthrough, it happens by complete accident. An overheard conversation during an assignment sends him off to the very northern tip of the country for a recently unearthed cursed tool that, if the goons he overheard this from weren’t no-good liars, could finally give him the means to free Yuuji he’d been clawing for.
As a rule, Satoru didn’t take leave. Being the strongest, he knew what kind of action his absence would spark, but after the past two years of trudging through a never-ending stream of bullshit from Jujutsu society, he honestly couldn’t make himself care less if those bastards all became victims of a cursed guillotine. Whatever happened to them could never compare what they’d put Yuuji through, isolating him with evil incarnate for literal years.
So, with a quick heads-up to Megumi and Nobara, he was off. He booked a first-class flight with Yuuji’s box, wrapping it in expensive cushions inside its own special (and ridiculously expensive) bag. He even bought another premium seat right next to himself, only the best for Yuuji.
During the extensive double-digit flight, he purchased a Jennifer Lawrence movie and placed Yuuji’s box in his lap for company. He wished Yuuji could’ve actually been there, beside him. He deserved to be. He would be soon enough.
Satoru couldn’t believe this thing was what’d finally let him free Yuuji. Cradled in his hands was one of the stranger cursed objects Satoru had ever seen, a yellowed, three-inch piece of cursed yarn that supposedly had the ability to reverse the function of other cursed objects, undoing their effects when sawed against them. It hadn’t even been that hard to get, but then again, nothing was really hard for Satoru. He just needed time to let reality sink in— after two years, he’d finally be in for that beautiful reunion.
Placing Yuuji’s box gingerly on the ground in front of him, Satoru took the string, holding it taught between his fingers as he began to work against the fleshy, eye-studded concrete. Nothing happens for a moment.
If this is just a normal piece of string, he promises a lot of people are going to die.
Thankfully for the world, a low, sloshy clicking noise bubbles up from the cube. The corners solidify and separate, snapping and stretching out in a wide area. Satoru blinks out of the way, concentrating with every last atom on the sac-like bulb suspended in the center. Five fingers emerge drowsily from the inky sac, sprawling and stretching forward until an entire hand unfurls. Another set of fingers climbs out, then a third set— Satoru’s heart hitches with anticipation while he watches four different sets of arms reach out from within the dark cocoon.
Both sets of muscular arms are marked with black ink, bands adorning each of the wrists and shoulders. It quickly becomes clear that Yuuji’s shirt was lost in the prison realm when his bare-chested upper body splashes up from the blackness like a diver emerging from a swimming pool. His head lulls back, facing the night sky as he gulps in the humid air. His dazed brown eyes blink awake, the other, smaller pair sluggishly fluttering open below. His hair isn’t pushed back, and his eyes aren’t the deep, malevolent red characteristic of Sukuna, although the King of Curse’s insignia is painted all over his face. He shakes his secondary set of arms, flexing and stretching the limbs out to an impressive wingspan.
Next to emerge from the ink is his lower body. His pants are miraculously holding on, though Satoru couldn’t explain how if he studied the theoretical physics of fabric for the next nine years. Watching the man, almost certainly Sukuna judging by the extra eyes, arms and tattoos, stretch out to his full height, Satoru estimates him as easily over seven feet tall, closely approaching eight.
Knowing Yuuji, he’d probably find all of those changes mortifying, but Satoru would be around to assure him. He really didn’t mind taller guys at all, and he’s sure they could find something to do with those extra limbs.
As the last of the prison realm sloughs from Sukuna’s admittedly impressive pillar of a body, the prison realm fully crumbles, the entire cursed object disintegrating into chunky dust.
He’d hoped he wouldn’t be seeing Sukuna first, but he can’t say it’s unexpected. He’s not worried. Seeing Yuuji’s body, even in a possessed state, has his heart singing. Satoru can’t help but clap, nodding along approvingly.
His cheerleading attracts the drowsy Sukuna’s attention, his brow furrowing as he takes in Satoru’s form. Sukuna doesn’t move for a moment, doesn’t even try to speak. Heavy breaths wrack through his chest. Then, his mouth twitches to form a fanged grimace. Aggression swallows Sukuna’s body like a wildfire, and he’s on Satoru in an instant.
Unworried because of their power difference, Satoru lets Sukuna tackle him, humoring the curse by letting him pretend at strangling Satoru, though he’s not actually doing anything thanks to Infinity. Sukuna growls, venom palpable in his throat. The pressure of Sukuna’s hands increases on his Infinity, but it’s still confusingly weak for a murder attempt by the King of Curses himself. Very much unharmed, Satoru is about to mock Sukuna and force the self-proclaimed King to give Yuuji up. He’s not exactly in the mood to entertain Sukuna right now when he could be talking to Yuuji.
But there’s something wrong with Sukuna’s expression, something that isn’t the murderous intent Satoru expected. That something grows, and Sukuna’s lower lip starts to tremble, toothy scowl struggling to keep its shape. The upper set of eyes, the ones that are brown like Yuuji’s, well with bright tears.
”Satoru,” The way Sukuna breathes his name sends chills up his spine. It’s Yuuji’s tone, Yuuji’s pronunciation replicated perfectly. It cruelly scrapes at the deep, longing ravine in Satoru’s chest, forcing him to second-guess who he’s talking to. The four-armed man releases his hold around the space of Satoru’s neck, giving up on hurting Satoru with another wave of tears. Shocked into silence, he stays under the man while his tattooed face curls into a tortured grimace.
“What took you so long?” The words leave as a resentful accusation. Trembling even more, the man who Satoru thought to be The King of Curses breaks into an uncharacteristically pathetic sob. The betrayal in his face is impossibly genuine when he pleads, ”Do you know what it was like to be stuck in there with him?”
”…Yuuji?” Asks Satoru, dazed because his six-eyes are failing in every way to give him the perspective he needs.
Another growl cuts the air, and the man’s second pair of hands clutch his temples, eyes wild and distressed, “Yes— no! No! This is all that brat’s fault! It’s his cursed energy that made me like this! It’s been him since the beginning! Every time I try to be a normal person, anything but his vessel, it’s always- it’s my fault- I should’ve taken control before that idiot ruined everything!” A furious scream erupts from the man’s fanged mouth, “Damnit— that idiot— I’m such an idiot!” Hot, gasping breaths leave moisture on Satoru’s horror-stricken face. More tears fall on the grass beside them, and with a shaky, self-wounded frown, he admits, “I should’ve thought things through when I was trying to help you? ‘Use your small brain, Yuuji?’”
Satoru flinches. He remembers giving that advice to Yuuji like it was yesterday, he even remembers the way he playfully flicked Yuuji’s forehead after saying it. Sukuna would never reference memories from Yuuji’s point of view, or even hope to mimic the genuine distress Satoru was seeing. But the man on top of him had just referred to Yuuji as a brat, and also spoken from Sukuna’s perspective, something Yuuji would never and could never do.
Satoru swallows, struggling to sort out his shock and confusion to respond.
But the man was inconsolable, raving past Satoru, “But I was using my head! I took precautions. I pulled his weak little heart out, and I made him form a binding vow— one minute of complete control. I could’ve stopped him, but I was waiting for the perfect moment. ‘Just a little longer here, and I’ll be ready for a real massacre’…”
There it was again— Sukuna’s bloodlusted point of view shining through. If control was somehow being switched around, Satoru couldn’t tell when it was happening. More confusing, how was it so seamless? There weren’t any direct call-outs of each other’s influence, almost like he was facing a single, contradictory entity in Yuuji and Sukuna’s place.
Satoru doesn’t have to wait long for a clarification. The curse confesses, “I tried to keep things separate, no thanks to that idiot, but that place just wasn’t built for us. It was like trying to keep every grain of sand from moving during a sandstorm,” Anger evaporates into a deep depression, four eyes drooping, like he’d just realized none of that even mattered anymore. He collapses completely into an heavy, exhausted heap, swallowing Satoru with his larger frame, a sensation previously unknown to the 6’3 sorcerer. Leaning into Satoru’s ear with a voice that sounds exactly like Yuuji, he whimpers, “What am I doing? I’m really sorry, Sensei.”
Satoru wasn’t holding a strong hostility before, but after hearing those words, his guard plummets straight through the floor. Even his Infinity flickers out, allowing the duo to touch. He feels so much like Yuuji, so much that Satoru stops caring at all about the extra pair of arms or eyes. Satoru’s hands find a comfortable familiarity embracing the man’s back. In turn, Satoru is rewarded with a tender nuzzle in the crook of his neck.
The man who could easily be mistaken for Ryoumen Sukuna tilts his head up to meet Satoru’s stare. His brown eyes are soft and full of longing, “I missed you,” He admits, voice barely rising above a whisper. Satoru can’t handle that tone- if he’d been standing, he’d have buckled under his own weight.
Even if this wasn’t exactly the Yuuji Satoru had been craving, even if he was also Sukuna, he was still Yuuji— and that was the only thing Satoru cared about.
”I’m never letting anything happen to you again.”
Ink covering every other inch of his body, double the eyes, double the arms, double the muscle, not double the height, but being two full feet taller than the average man certainly made the Yuuji-Sukuna amalgamation stand out.
Personally, Satoru was not complaining. In fact, he’d never been so happy to be distracted. Unfortunately, not everyone was as cultured as Satoru, so traveling across Japan might be a bit challenging for them. Satoru wasn’t exactly sure how he was going to compensate for the extra appendages, but one thing was for certain, Yuuji (Sukuna?) would need some clothes.
There was no part of Satoru that wanted to leave the man alone, but he had to. For the greater good (clothes-shopping).
For the first time in years, Satoru felt vivid excitement and giddiness. He’d already imagined shopping for Yuuji many times. Daydreams of buying up large chunks of every store they’d walk into, where anything Yuuji so much as blinked at would be his. Of course, the fact that Yuuji wouldn’t physically be there with him was a bummer, but Satoru was still shopping for him— it was close enough. His last sliver of sanity pleaded to at least get Yuuji something to cover his extra arms before parading around in public.
The only sensible thing to do was find the fanciest store in the area. It was a surprisingly short building with a sleek, dark modern design and windows that glistened with the expensive clothing and jewelry within. The brand name Mucci was posed like a shrine at the front of the building. Was it insufferable? Oh yes, but Satoru wouldn’t dare lighten his wallet with anything less.
Walking along one of the store’s short aisles, a bright flash of red fabric flashed like a beacon. Ever since Yuuji had been sealed, Satoru’s attention could be instantly captured by a specific apple red as the hoodie Yuuji modified to his uniform. The item that drew him in this time was a long, puffy winter jacket, completely out of season and climate for the area. The coat’s collar eerily resembled Yuuji’s old hoodie, its two gold buttons singing to Satoru like sweet sirens. It stood alone in its glass case display, two yellow tags pleading with Satoru about its long and storied history of never being bought. Even on sale, the piece was still designer, the cost coming up to about two-hundred thousand yen, but money meant absolutely nothing when Satoru was shopping for Yuuji.
In the end, he left the store millions of yen down, but with a smile like he was on just a bit too many drugs.
Once upon a time, when Satoru was trying for a very different man, said man described Satoru’s courting style as a peacock’s. Flashy, over-the-top, and flaunting. To that, Satoru can only raise a question. What’s the fun in being humble? He has it (money, power, looks); why shouldn’t he flaunt it?
And flaunt he will. Preparing to meet back up with his fused student, Satoru douses himself with an expensive cologne, tussles his hair and even changes his shirt to a dark button-up, undoing the clasps until his chest is doing much more than just hinting out of his collar. If he was more patient, he would’ve found a rose somewhere, but he’s been patient for too long, and right now he just wants to get to the payoff.
When Satoru bursts through to the patch of woods with about ten full bags of clothes, he gets a very confused look from his four-eyed ray of sunshine— who had stayed put exactly, much to Satoru’s delight. Despite all the effort and yen he invested into their next meeting, Satoru admits to being a bit surprised Sukuna (Yuuji?) hadn’t run off to start eating people. All of Yuuji’s eyes drift to the bags of clothes, and he walks up to Satoru, curious as he takes them in his arms.
”An offering?” He quietly remarks. The man sorts through the clothes with lost silence, picking up an item with each of his four arms before staring at them, considering. Then, as if finally deciding Satoru’s ‘offering’ was enough, a warm, happy smile fills his face. He turns, exclaiming, “Thank you so much, Satoru!”
Taking no further time to dive into the designer items that’d injured Satoru’s wallet, Yuuji keeps his simple, contented expression, humming a tune that Satoru swears he recognizes from a movie. The process is a bit awkward, because Yuuji doesn’t seem to understand, let alone be used to, his extra limbs or size, his coordination being on the level of a newly-born deer. Satoru tries not to snicker— and he only succeeds because he’s too busy appreciating the view. Yuuji must’ve been over three-hundred pounds of muscle, and even the extra large shirts languish against the bulk of his chest.
When Yuuji finally gets to the coat, his brown eyes light up, clearly recognizing the design. The jacket’s two-armed sleeves should’ve made it impossible for him to fit, but he runs this second pair of hands along the inside thoughtfully, settling on two spots on the jacket’s fluffy back before tearing the first layer of fabric open.
Satoru initially wilts, wounded that Sukuna (Yuuji?) had ruined his amazing gift, but ultimately reasoning that if he didn’t like it, he was right to do so, and Satoru will just have to buy him something better. However, Yuuji (Sukuna?) begins stuffing his arms through his tear. Once his arms are fully folded into the back of the coat, they’re completely hidden from view, the fluff of the jacket blending their shape so well it looks as though he’s just wearing a bulky jacket over his shoulders. With his upper set of arms hidden, and his lower set of eyes held closed, the man could finally pass as a human, an unearthly tall, muscular, heavily-tattooed human, but a human nonetheless.
”Ahhh,” Satoru gushes at his precious, handsome curse, “Good thinking, Yuuji!”
Yuuji’s head snaps toward Satoru, hopefully asking, “Was it really?” Then, adorably sobering up from Satoru’s compliment, he pulls back, telling himself, “Of course it was.”
Basking in how nice it was to hear Yuuji’s voice, to see Yuuji’s face, the (ever so slightly) alarming thought occurs to Satoru that he could stay here, in this moment, forever. Satoru admires Yuuji, who’s now tracing the dark tattoos on his skin. Is he fidgeting? Oh, that’s just adorable. Looking past the undeniable cuteness, the deep, complicated expression on Yuuji’s face is worrying.
Immediately, Satoru flashes through everything he’s done or said, trying to figure out if anything he’d done was a problem. The gift was well received but— What if he didn’t like being called Yuuji?
Sukuna would hate it (something-something, grrr! Don’t call me by that brat’s name!), and although Satoru craved the feeling of saying Yuuji’s name, he’d give it up in a heartbeat if it was a problem. Anything to keep him around.
Feeling a rare spot of anxiety, Satoru conjures a calmness he does not have to ask, ”Do you prefer Sukuna, or Yuuji?”
Yuuji stops tracing his tattoos, his head rolling back lazily as he answers, “Did I used to care if someone called me the King of Curses or The Disgraced One? Sukuna, Yuuji, they’re both my names, I don’t ‘prefer’ either,” A sharp laugh burst from his throat, and a prideful grin carves his face, “Epithets are only reasonable for a natural disaster like me.”
Unfazed by the Sukuna-like arrogance, Satoru tilts his head, passively deciding, “Yuuji it is.”
True to his claim of indifference, the King of Curses just shrugs, jumping to an important topic— food. Bluntly, he asks, “What’s dinner? M’hungry.”
It was cute, honestly, even if Satoru had a suspicion Yuuji might just as soon eat a person as a roast feast. That didn’t concern Satoru, because as long as Satoru kept supplying him with non-human meals, he was confident there wouldn’t be an issue. It wasn’t like Satoru didn’t have the last two years to think up restaurants he’d take Yuuji.
The next three weeks of Satoru’s life are pure bliss. He still has weeks left of his vacation time, and he proposes treating Yuuji during that time— they can find out where to go from there after they have their share of fun. Yuuji doesn’t hesitate to answer, sunnily accepting before making a slightly disturbing, extremely cannibalistic comment. Satoru of course responds with an affectionate head-ruffle, mostly because Yuuji just looked so adorable while he was talking about how long to cook humans for them to reach peak tenderness. Yuuji seemed to enjoy it, judging by how he leaned into the touch.
Satoru takes the opportunity to rent out the VIP top floors of hotels across the country, bringing Yuuji along with him to witness the incredible view and beauty his money can buy.
What can Satoru say? He’s above shameless, he’s a proud peacock; he likes to flaunt.
It’s no secret that Yuuji’s favorite parts of the trips are the food. The room service can barely survive Yuuji’s constant demands for their best, most elaborate dishes. He gorges himself again and again on spreads and appetizers, swallowing desserts with a single bite. Yuuji used to prefer more simple dishes, but based on the constant requests for fancy recipes, Satoru concludes that Sukuna must’ve had quite the tastes. He gravitates toward meat, eyes lighting up when his dish has ‘superior marbling’. Thanks to Satoru’s consumption of cooking shows the last couple years, he actually knows what that is. The rarer the meat the better, Yuuji brightly insisted to him once, a western-style fillet mignon dripping blood from his teeth.
Whether it be brushing a hair from Yuuji’s face or a grain of rice from his chin, Satoru makes sure to take full advantage of Yuuji’s messiness and get as close as possible as often as possible.
Amusingly, a trip to a convenience store tides him over almost just as easily. He’ll call the chips, popcorn and candies tasteless trash, but he doesn’t stop eating them, opening mouths on his hands and mindlessly clearing family-sized portions in minutes. Satoru took a bag from Yuuji once, the way his face lit up with betrayal was priceless. Unexpectedly, he didn’t object, but a visible depression overtook him, and he kept making puppy dog eyes at Satoru until he gave in and tossed the bag back.
Every day he wakes up, he wakes up with Yuuji next to him, dozing off with his arms spread wide across their king sized mattress. The thing is, Satoru always pays for two beds in their room, and at the end of the night, they both fall asleep separate.
Well, that’s a lie. They both pretend to fall asleep. Yuuji turns off the light and waits a few hours, his lower eyes blinking open every twenty minutes, no-doubt checking to see if Satoru looks like he’s sleeping yet. After repeating his ritual enough, all of Yuuji’s eyes open, and he gathers his bedding quietly, eyes fixed on Satoru as he hugs the fluffed hotel pillows close and tip-toes up to Satoru’s bedside. With a careful focus that Satoru didn’t know Yuuji or Sukuna had, he begins arranging his bedding in a very pampered-looking display next to Satoru, being as quiet and delicate as a seven-foot eight, four-armed man could be.
His ego drinks up Yuuji’s attention; but he has a bad personality, and it’s hard not to just interrupt him mid-routine and pull him onto the mattress. The only reason he doesn’t is that it’s too precious that Yuuji thinks he has to sneak around to get in the same bed as him.
”Why should I sleep the worse bed? The one you chose was better,” Yuuji stubbornly insists when he wakes up the next morning. That was nonsense, they both knew Satoru always gave Yuuji the first choice.
In the interest of keeping their cute little game going, Satoru plays along, always coyly suggesting they switch so Yuuji can now have the better. Yuuji wilts, annoyance creasing his brow as he sullenly agrees, frowning at Satoru as he sulks over to the other empty bed. And yet, without fail, Satoru would find Yuuji snoozing beside him the morning after, claiming that he was mistaken once again— magically, the bed Satoru switched to, the very one Yuuji had only last night claimed to be worth abandoning, was now better.
Because it was Yuuji, Satoru loves his quirks. They were just so, so adorable.
If Yuuji snaps at someone for breathing too loud, Satoru concludes that they were, in fact, breathing too loud. If someone asks Yuuji to move because they can’t see the screen in the theater, and Yuuji looks a moment away from Cleaving them in two, he can only say that they had the problem and they should’ve found another seat. It’s kind of miraculous, but Yuuji just can’t seem to do anything that isn’t endearing.
What’s that stupid saying again? Nothing good lasts forever? It sounds like defeatist bullshit to him, but on the second to last day of Satoru’s planned leave, Yuuji pulls him aside in their hotel suite, face serious and stony as he says something that reminds Satoru he might not be able to keep The King of Curses as his adorable little ray of sunshine.
“You want Sukuna’s fingers?” Satoru repeats, voice coming out dull and monotone from shock.
Yuuji sends him an annoyed glare, as though he was being obvious, “Satoru, they’re mine.”
After blinking away his initial surprise, most factions of Satoru’s mind fall back on the thing he’s been doing nonstop these past weeks. He wants to cuddle up to Yuuji’s towering seven foot frame and pinch his tattooed cheeks. He’d tell him ‘yes’ like he was cooing over a purse-dog who just yapped about biting the annoying neighbors.
A (smaller) part of Satoru finds his situation seriously concerning; the King of Curses is asking for the relics of his power for who-knows what reason. This was exactly the type of thing The Strongest Sorcerer was supposed to stop from happening. Trying to stick with his responsibilities, Satoru attempts to put himself into the mental state to oppose Yuuji, but his brain pushes back, forcing him into a memory: Blood leaking from an alleyway, courtesy of Suguru Geto on death’s door. He can so easily imagine Yuuji in the same position, staring up at him with weak, muddied acceptance. This time, he just refuses to let the scenario play out further, banishing it from his eyes with a distinctly traitorous tug.
”You’re really gonna turn me into an accomplice, aren’t you?” Satoru says it jokingly- he’s not joking. No matter what anyone thinks Satoru’s responsibility is, he refuses to play executioner again. He won’t kill Yuuji, and he doesn’t have to stick his fingers in his ears while Yuuji is out all alone turning Japan into an all-you-can eat buffet, a quest which would surely lead to his eventual death.
It hadn’t been long since he got Yuuji back, but he already feels like he’d rather die than be without him. If anyone was capable of preserving this easy bliss he’s been growing drunk on, it’d be the Strongest Sorcerer. He’s very aware that he’s about to sink to a forbidden option, and it causes Satoru to light up with slightly crazed laughter.
He impulsively declares, “In for a penny, in for a pound! Alright, you’re convinced me! Let’s both do it; let’s be criminals!”
All four of Yuuji’s eyes cloud over with confusion, looking at Satoru like he’s lost it, “…What.”
Devious, Satoru exclaims, ”Criminals, Yuuji! We’re gonna storm Jujutsu society, and we’ll be unstoppable! I’m gonna kick those old-heads in the pants, and you’re gonna Cleave ‘em in two! My only request is that we do it on a day Nobara and Megumi are out on assignment.”
Looking more than mildly disturbed, as if he hadn’t mentioned brutally killing someone every day for weeks, Yuuji explains, ”Sensei… they already want to feed me my fingers, if I just pretend I’m not Sukuna, won’t they do it on their own…?”
Oh.
Right.
A bit underwhelmed that he’d just thrown his morals off the side of a cliff for no apparent reason, Satoru asks, “Are you sure you don’t want to just barge in there? The doors, they’re very barge-able. It’d be quick too…”
”S-Sensei,” Yuuji tries weakly.
”And very dramatic! Don’t tell me a collab between The Disgraced One and The Honored One doesn’t sound great! I could fly us in, or just stay as backup until you need me!”
”Sensei.”
“Whatever works for you, really! With me, you can’t fail— We could get creative, pull a wedding-cake heist from the Mission Improbable with Jennifer Lawrence!”
”Sensei!” Hisses Yuuji, grabbing Satoru’s collar (yes, he did turn off Limitless for that one). The redness dusted on Yuuji’s cheeks is not missed by either party, and Satoru raises an eyebrow in response.
”Shut up,” Yuuji snarls, scrambling for composure, “Shut up, I meant— we could do that. After I get my fingers back, we can wreak as much damage as I want.”
Why does bloodlust make him look so squeezable? Barely holding himself back from doing just that, Satoru nods eagerly, replying, “So what’s the plan? I’m all ears.”
”A plan…” Yuuji repeats slowly, as if he’s trying to savor the thought, “A plan with Gojo Satoru…” The way he says Satoru’s name is like he’s referring to a precious jewel or unattainable god, something beautiful and divine. It’s not the first time he’s heard himself spoken about like that, but hearing it from Yuuji’s mouth is a whole new addiction.
”A plan with me!” Satoru joins in with a sing-song tone, clapping excitedly.
Letting go of Satoru’s collar, Yuuji admits, “I didn’t think you’d want to…” The man takes a thoughtful pause, rocking back to sit on the nearest chair, his size making him look very silly and uncomfortable in the too-small wooden seat. Yuuji commits to his choice to sit down, resting his hand at his chin. The pose might’ve looked regal if his seat weren’t so teeny tiny. After a good minute of silence, Yuuji asks, “They let you have access to them, right?”
“Yep.”
”And they don’t know I’m free, right?”
”Nope! I didn’t tell anybody where I was going, I know when those old-heads are snooping in on me.”
An extremely devious grin splits his face, Sukuna’s signature smile, “Then we barely need a plan at all! Just take them and teleport out! They’d let you walk in, and they wouldn’t notice until you got out and brought them to me— even if they do, it’ll be too late: How could they stop you?”
”I’m stronger than every one of them! They couldn’t!” Satoru sunnily cheers.
A very impressive evil laugh bellows from Yuuji’s mouth, and he rolls his head back, posing all four arms maniacally. All Satoru could think is that Yuuji was almost certainly going to try to eat all of the Zenin clan. And honestly? Satoru might even have a bite himself. Those bastards really have it coming.