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The first time Satoru died, it was instant.
It had to be. Anything less he could have healed between one infinity and the next, by the scourge kept under his skin. Sukuna knew that. Satoru knew he did.
It was ironic, Satoru thought. Of all the creatures under the heavens, it was the King of Curses that truly understood how monstrous Satoru was. How lonely power made men like them— how they were alone, in the world. Of course, Sukuna didn’t understand the rest of him. That was for his precious students, for Shōko, for Nanami and all the others. Satoru was for them, in the end.
So, yes. When Satoru died, it was instant.
And then he woke up.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
Satoru opened his eyes on December 23rd.
He knew the day. His six eyes saw the world with an unspeakable clarity, and no two days were the same. Satoru had died tomorrow, sliced in half by a move he hadn’t seen coming. It was strange. Satoru had always seen so much.
He took a moment to look at the world. It didn’t change, didn’t shift. It was the day before his death.
Hmm.
Satoru pulled on a shirt, and went to find answers.
He started with his students and Shōko.
“Hey, Yūji,” he began, leaning against a wall in the gym, “do you remember seeing me die?”
Yūji blinked. The scar across his face reflected a hollow light under Satoru’s eyes. Harrowing. Satoru didn’t care for it.
“You’re alive, sensei.”
“So I am. That’s exactly why I’m surprised.” Satoru tilted his head, thinking. “Check with the others. If anyone remembers my death, send them to me.”
No one did.
“We can’t afford you losing it now,” Shōko said, an hour later, stepping up to his side. Satoru glanced at her. She looked tired. Tired or dead or aching with grief— the only looks he’d seen for weeks.
Satoru missed what they’d left behind.
“I’m not,” he said waving his hand. “It’s something else.”
“Something that’s had you asking about our memories.”
Satoru sighed. “Yeah. I’ll explain next time. Hey, Shōko. Keep the others here, no matter what happens.”
She rolled her eyes, but didn’t say no. “Ask someone who can fight.”
“Like you’ve ever needed to fight to get your way.”
There was only one thing to do.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
“So, you remember too,” Sukuna drawled. “How interesting.”
He looked regal, sitting idly on a throne of bones, legs spread and shoulders loose. The line of him cut from the jaw down, sharp, to his palm, to the throne. Satoru remembered fighting him as he remembered little else.
The brat was to one side— the icy one with a technique that looked like the deep freeze of winter, crystalizing across their skin. Kenjaku wasn’t. Sukuna must have sent the parasite away. Not out of Satoru’s range, but far enough to be troublesome.
Satoru sighed, annoyed.
There were no traces of techniques he couldn’t identify, no change in the coals of Sukuna’s energy. It’d been a blaze before, and it was a blaze now.
“Ah, fuck,” Satoru complained. “I was really hoping this was your fault.”
“Then you were a fool,” Sukuna answered, simply. “We saw all of each other when I killed you.”
“Speak for yourself.”
There was a flash, then, of fire. Seemed Satoru had made the King of Curses a little angry.
“Don’t imply you held back, Six Eyes.”
“Not what I was saying,” Satoru answered, and it was the truth. “Not like I’d let myself die just to wound your ego— but you didn’t see my ass, did you?”
Sukuna laughed. Satoru didn’t like the way it looked, on Megumi’s face. He didn’t like seeing Sukuna there at all.
“Waiting a day sounds troublesome,” Satoru decided, and stepped closer. He put his foot on Sukuna’s throne, right between the spread legs. “How about we go now?”
Fire caught around his foot, licking at his ankle. Satoru didn’t care.
“You’re so eager for death,” Sukuna said, quiet enough to kill. “Very well.”
Satoru smirked.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
They fought again.
It was longer, this time. Satoru drew out the clash of domains, already ready for Sukuna’s game. He kept far away from Mahoraga too, dodging its hits long before it could get a taste of limitless. It wasn’t enough to stop the adaptation, but it was enough to exhaust Sukuna’s patience.
“You’ve gone defensive on me, sorcerer,” Sukuna growled, throwing a punch at Satoru’s throat like it’d personally offended him. Maybe it had. “It’s boring.”
Satoru ducked, grinned, and finished charging the hollow purple.
“That’s what you think,” he said, and blew them both to pieces.
They died.
And then they woke up.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
Satoru opened his eyes on December 22nd.
Reality unfolded its secrets for him in a slow blink. December 22nd, two days before he’d died the first time. A day earlier than before, with sunrise a few minutes earlier, and an east wind that hadn’t brushed the trees the next day.
Satoru stood, and stared out, through the stone and trees and into Tōkyō. How many people had died between today and the 24th? Satoru could have counted, with his eyes. He didn’t bother. Any would have been enough.
Satoru pulled on a shirt, and went to ask Yūji about his death.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
No one remembered.
Satoru wasn’t surprised, not really, but it ruled out a few possibilities. He’d need more data before he could pin down what this was.
So, the facts. Satoru had died twice. From those first two deaths he’d collected a few common variables. One: he died. Two: he’d fought Sukuna. Three: Sukuna remembered.
Satoru hummed, standing against a wall of the gym. His students were training, Yūji and all the others doing their best.
Satoru had to do his best too.
If Satoru alone had remembered, he’d experiment. But there was no relying on Sukuna to stay predictable. In fact, unpredictable was the only thing Satoru could count on from Sukuna. He’d have to keep the King of Curses occupied. He could figure out what was causing it on the way, and— well. He already had a guess.
So Satoru didn’t bother waiting.
“Gojō Satoru,” Sukuna greeted, when Satoru teleported to him. “At first I thought this was a simple time reversal technique, but it seems quite complicated.”
“It’s not a technique,” Satoru corrected, walking up long bone steps. The little brat that followed Sukuna around was here, but Kenjaku wasn’t. Damn.
Sukuna narrowed his eyes. “No? What do your eyes see, then?”
Everything, was one answer. Satoru could see the world, balance it on the gentle palm of his hand. But that didn’t matter, did it? It hadn’t been enough.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“You would keep it from me? Foolish. There’s nothing to gain by silence.”
“Maybe I want you to beg,” Satoru mused, taking that last step to stand before Sukuna. The flare of bloodlust was just what he expected. Sukuna didn’t act on it, though. Satoru hadn’t expected him to.
What a patient king.
“Wait out of range,” Sukuna told the brat, and they bowed and left. Satoru noticed, and didn’t care. Six eyes were focused on Sukuna.
Like a slow death, Sukuna said, “I wonder if you know what true begging is.”
Satoru laughed. “I’ve heard people beg for their lives, and beg for me. For another day. For help, sometimes.” He hummed, unblinking. “But I don’t think that’s how you’ll beg.”
Sukuna looked at him, ice across an ocean of flame.
“Kings don’t beg, Gojō Satoru,” came like a spark in the night. “And yet, you have, haven’t you? It’s pathetic how easily you bent for this world.”
Satoru whistled.
“Not going to try to kill me because I want you on your knees? I’m shocked, Sukuna, I really am.”
“You’re strong,” Sukuna said, and resting his chin across a palm. He looked kingly, sitting there. Satoru almost wanted to laugh. “Magnificent. Your skill has earned you a small measure of indulgence.”
“I’m flattered,” Satoru drawled. It tasted like iron. “What does this indulgence get me, exactly?”
“Death,” Sukuna sneered, “and the horror of being killed while I’m in this body.”
“Nah, I don’t think so. That’s no indulgence I need,” Satoru replied, and it was a sharp thing. Truth, as he had decreed it.
Sukuna laughed.
“Need? I don’t care what you need.”
“Thanks for confirming you’re shit in bed,” Satoru said, and got another flash of bloodlust. It was hotter, this time. Made of flame, instead of embers.
Satoru liked it. He liked the way Sukuna went for the kill even more.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
They died again, Satoru cut at the throat and Sukuna obliterated on the fangs of hollow purple. It didn’t matter. They still woke up.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
Satoru opened his eyes on December 21st.
He closed them, for a moment, remembering that last image. That was the second time he’d killed Megumi. It was what Megumi would have asked him to do. Satoru knew that. He’d do it again, if he had to. It still hurt.
Satoru should have found another way.
He sighed, standing up, and looked out at the world. It was a nice day. Cold, but most days were cold. Winter had sunk its teeth in deep. Suguru would have told him to wear a scarf on a day like today. Nanami would have worn one of those professional suits, the ones that were especially hideous. Riko… Satoru didn’t know what she’d have worn. He’d never known her in winter.
Satoru pulled on a shirt, and teleported to Sukuna. Kenjaku was gone again.
“Sukuna,” he greeted, stepping closer.
“Gojō. I’m getting tired of your face.”
“No one gets tired of my face,” Satoru smirked, and it felt sharp. “Why protect that patched up old bag?”
“Why destroy us both?” Sukuna returned, and that was no answer, was it? Satoru wanted an answer.
“For shits and giggles,” he said, and stepped closer. “You gonna answer, or am I gonna beat it out of you?”
Sukuna’s eyes narrowed.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
They fought again. It was short and brutal, both of them going straight for the throat. And then—
A flash of red, sewn into the space between them, trailing off Satoru’s wrist. It ended with Sukuna. Satoru watched it for a second too long.
He died.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
Satoru opened his eyes on December 20th, and looked at his wrist.
There was little to see, even with his eyes. A bare flicker, like a thread being spun into being. A life, dead and born as Satoru watched.
He really, really hadn’t wanted to be right. Ah, well. He could deal with this. He could use it too.
“Don’t fight so carelessly,” was the first thing Sukuna said when Satoru teleported in. There was tension painting the line of his chin in shadows.
Sukuna looked mad. Satoru really didn’t care.
“Oh, I got on your nerves. Cute.”
Sukuna narrowed his eyes. “Your only redeeming feature is your skill. Don’t waste it.”
“Hah! You forgot about my face,” Satoru said, and then, “I see the parasite’s gone again. Seriously, you’re so careful with his life. You fucking him or something?”
Sukuna gave him a look of disgust.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
They both died again. It’d started to be a habit, Satoru thought, pulling himself out of bed.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
The next time was straight to the fight.
Satoru ducked a punch, felt a slash across his face, and healed it without a thought. Domain Expansion was risky, and—
“Your students are here, Six Eyes,” Sukuna said, and stepped back. It was almost polite. Distance made and carved, so they could return to the fight.
Satoru stepped back too.
“I forgot to tell Shōko, damn it. Give me a second,” he said, and then shouted, “hey, all of you— take off. I’ve got it.”
“Sensei…”
“Is something wrong? The fight was scheduled for the 24th.”
“Do you need us?”
There was a laugh, behind him. Deep and rumbling.
When he was a child, Satoru’s favorite story had been of an ink painting curse. It’d taken the form of a tiger, dripping off scrolls and hunting in the shadows. Deadly, according to his tutors. Beautiful, Satoru had thought.
That laugh felt a little like hunting.
“Turning your back to me is bold, Gojō. Even for you.”
“You want a fight,” Satoru said, glancing back. He caught four eyes with six, red against blue. “Not an empty victory. You’ll wait.”
Slowly, Sukuna smiled. It looked like the cold sunrise over a corpse. Satoru was blocking the hit before it could cut Yūji in half.
“One student for every time you look away,” Sukuna announced, thoughtful.
“You’re so needy,” Satoru said, flat as ice, but there was rage painting its way over his eyes. “Get out of here, all of you.”
They left. Satoru didn’t spare the eyes to watch them.
“It’s amusing they thought they could help you,” and then, like boiling flames, “there’s a reason people like us fight alone.”
“There’s no people like us,” Satoru said, tasting a bitter cold. He circled Sukuna. “There’s just you and me.”
Sukuna blinked, and turned with him. Two beasts, Satoru thought.
“We alone,” Sukuna mused, with four vicious eyes. They were the same color as the string on Satoru’s wrist. Satoru would still kill him.
“We alone,” Satoru agreed, and then, “but even if they’re gone, I’m not fighting alone.”
“So sentimental.”
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
Satoru fell into a routine. Wake up, tell the people he loved to stay put, use six eyes to look for any anomalies, and then go find Sukuna. Banter with the King of Curses, ignore the icy kid, fume about Kenjaku. Then fight until they both felt alive, die, rinse and repeat.
It was an easy rhythm. A routine, with the worn grooves of habit that only six eyes could see. Satoru let it happen. Each day further back was better, in his book. Less people dead, less chaos to fix. Sukuna let it happen too. Was it boredom? Apathy? Sukuna seemed drenched in it, from sole to soul.
Satoru didn’t know. Wouldn’t unless he picked the curse apart more, and while he might at this rate, it wasn’t his priority.
Still… it was strange. Satoru hated routines, usually. He didn’t hate this one.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
“Ah, it’s a shame you’re hiding behind Ten Shadows,” Satoru mused, catching a kick on his bicep and flipping Sukuna with the momentum, “I’d love to fight you with all twenty fingers.”
Sukuna spun through the air with an easy grace, landing on steady feet. Satoru had expected it. Their fights had a rhythm to them, now.
“Oh? Is that what you crave? You want to face me at full strength, in my original body, don’t you.” Sukuna smiled, wide and malicious. “You want to feel what it actually means to fight me.”
“Yeah, I really do,” Satoru said, easy, and the truth was always so easy to say. Lying had been a concession, for him. A way to keep the world steady. There was a part of Satoru that was glad he could stop lying. “I want to rip four arms off instead of two. Gets a little boring to go at so few limbs. Too bad you’re using that body as a shield.”
“We both know you’d kill this boy if it saved the world. After all, you already have.”
Satoru did. He didn’t want to.
“Yeah, sure,” Satoru agreed, slipping inside Sukuna’s guard for a punch. The curse caught it on one hand, and dodged the next one. Slippery little thing, the King of Curses. “Doesn’t mean I want to. What do you say, Sukuna? If I get you that last finger, will you swear to never possess another body? And I mean really swear, binding vow and pinky promise, with all four pinkies.”
Sukuna made a curious noise, and sliced across Satoru’s throat. It was easy to heal. More thoughtful, than murderous. Cute.
“That is a tempting offer, Six Eyes. But no,” came at last, “I like this body. More handsome than the last one, and much easier to break. I think killing you would shatter this boy’s soul.”
Satoru felt rage roar up his throat, hot and hungry.
“What a shitty excuse,” he taunted. “You’re just afraid.”
That got Sukuna punching even harder.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
The days kept passing. Satoru was enjoying them.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
“Gojō,” Sukuna greeted, as Satoru teleported in. “A question for you.”
It was an easy, lazy greeting. Indolent, just as Sukuna was indolent, sprawled and waiting on a throne.
“Oh? Let’s see if I feel like giving you an answer.”
“What do you think will happen when we’ve gone back to November 19th?” Sukuna asked, voice smooth as blood. “The prison realm is hungry for you.”
“Is that a bad thing? The further back we go, the less mess there is to clean up,” Satoru countered, smirking.
“I’ve heard time passes strangely in there. A day can be an eternity.” Sukuna watched him with four hungry eyes. “I’ve no interest in watching you lose yourself to torture. A waste.”
Satoru hadn’t lost himself the first time. He wouldn’t lose himself now.
“Sounds like you’d miss me,” Satoru mused, and glanced at his wrist. Red. It was red. Stronger now— it’d darkened with every death. “You’ve gone soft. That’s pretty pathetic.”
“It’s a shame someone with your skill has such an annoying personality.”
“So you would miss me,” Satoru grinned. “Well, don’t worry about me. You should be more worried about you, don’t you think? If we go back far enough, you won’t have that body.”
“Ah, yes. You care for him, don’t you?”
Satoru stared, unblinking, smile vicious. Sukuna matched it.
“Of course I do,” Satoru agreed, easy. “He’s my precious student.”
“It’s more than that,” Sukuna countered. “I can see his memories, Gojō. You raised the boy. A son, for a man like you. Did you want him to challenge you, someday?”
Satoru laughed, and walked up the steps to Sukuna’s throne. He stopped, feet level with the throne, shoulders above Sukuna, leaning forward enough to dare.
“I wanted him to live well,” Satoru said, and it was the truth. That didn’t seem to be enough for Sukuna.
“Why raise him if he wouldn’t be your equal?”
“For the joy of seeing a flower bloom,” Satoru said. Something swam between them, then. Satoru couldn’t pin it down.
At last, Sukuna said, “you are a strange man, Gojō Satoru.”
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
Satoru opened his eyes on December 10th, and looked at his wrist. A delicate red string hung from it, tugging into the distance. The one garrote that four eyes couldn’t see, but six could.
Sukuna wasn’t wrong about the prison realm. It wouldn’t be good to be trapped again. Luckily, Satoru had a plan. He also had something to test before he was sealed again.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
The next fight took longer. It was drawn out, and one moment Satoru was dodging a punch and the next he was blinking, six eyes moored on Sukuna.
Sukuna was smiling. Not a smirk, not a sneer, not a threat. A smile.
“What’s got you so happy, Sukuna?”
“Fighting you.” Sukuna spun around for a kick. Satoru saw its shadow long before it’d been thrown. “It is a beautiful thing, Gojō Satoru.”
Satoru caught him with a punch to the chest, and Sukuna just laughed, dark and rumbling.
“It does feel good,” Satoru admitted. “Haven’t had anyone keep up with me in a long time.”
Sukuna hummed. The marks on his skin were a deep black, painted to curve around muscle. Tiger stripes, Satoru thought, and shifted his weight. He already knew what was coming next, and not just because six eyes saw the world in agonizing detail.
No, he knew because it was Sukuna.
“Domain Expansion,” they said, in perfect harmony, and Satoru unfolded his domain across the Malevolent Shrine, laying it down like a lily across a pond of blood.
“It’d be prettier without the blood, you know,” Satoru nodded around them. “Red’s a good look on you, but this is a little much.”
“It’s for my amusement, not yours,” Sukuna said, but he didn’t sound annoyed. Amused, if anything.
“You need a hobby,” Satoru replied, and punched hard enough to send him flying.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
The next time Satoru teleported to Sukuna, he found a corpse waiting for him.
It was Suguru, laid across the floor, hands at his side and eyes closed. Dead, as he should have been, with the threads pulled from his skin and unmade.
He looked peaceful.
Satoru took a step forward, helpless. He thought he’d crush the world, if he wasn’t careful.
“Why kill Kenjaku?”
Sukuna looked at him. Satoru took a long moment to look back. There was a steady ease, to Sukuna’s stare. It was timeless, patient. Cruel.
“He annoyed me.”
“Would’ve thought taking orders from him annoyed you before this.”
“Watch yourself, Six Eyes. I don’t take orders,” came like a knife, and then, “but there’s no point in keeping him alive until we’ve settled what binds us,” Sukuna shrugged. “And I don’t care if he dies.”
“Sure looked like you were following his commands to me. You’re pretty whipped.”
“That’s a good idea. I’ll whip you bloody after I’ve beaten you again.”
Satoru snorted, eyes unblinking.
“Your threats are pathetic. If I’m beaten, I’m dead,” he said, and it was a simple truth. “Same as you.”
Sukuna hummed. He didn’t deny it. “Your corpse would do.”
“It’d bore you,” Satoru said, and knew it was true. “Besides, we’d just loop again. Sorry, but you’ll have to keep your kinky little fantasy for later,” and then, colder, with a winter wind in his throat, he said, “Suguru’s body isn’t going to stop me from grinding your face under my heel.”
“Says the man I’ve killed,” Sukuna smirked, and then nodded to Suguru. “Take it.”
Satoru blinked. “What?”
“Take the body. This man… he was dear to you, wasn’t he? I won’t pretend to understand it. But you want the body.”
“And you suddenly want to give it to me.”
“Yes.”
Satoru watched him.
“Huh,” he said, at last.
“What?”
“Who knew you could be considerate?”
Sukuna rolled his eyes. All four of them.
“Don’t test my patience more than you already do, brat.”
Satoru destroyed Suguru’s body. It took less than a thought, less than a heartbeat. If he’d done this a year ago…
Satoru closed six eyes, for long enough to mourn. Winter came to kiss at his throat, at the curve of his cheek. It felt like memories.
Satoru had missed Suguru for ten years, and he’d miss Suguru until the day he died. He hadn’t thought that’d be anytime soon, but times changed. Satoru changed.
He turned to Sukuna.
“Thanks for waiting,” Satoru said, quiet. He tilted his head, an infinity boiling in his veins. “Let’s dance.”
Sukuna stood from his throne, and stepped towards Satoru with an easy, deadly grace. “Dance? Hah.”
“Isn’t that what we do?” Satoru grinned, gathering up enough power to level a city.
Slowly, Sukuna smiled. “I suppose it is.”
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
Kenjaku was dead the next time, too. Satoru closed his eyes, and remembered Suguru. Sukuna gave him the time to do it. The fight was better, that day. More playful, but just as vicious, carving a wasteland into the future of Shinjuku. Neither of them really wanted it to end, Satoru thought. It was strange how easy it was to bear that truth. How it fell between them.
They sat and caught their breath between domain expansions, lounging on the ground.
“That last move,” Satoru began, the earth cold beneath his ass. “You haven’t used it before.”
The ground was as good as they could do, this far into the fight. There were no walls, no benches. Nothing of humanity was left here, where they’d fought.
Sukuna hummed, four eyes closed. He looked peaceful, for all that Satoru knew there was death a blink away. How strange.
“Sharp eyes. It’s new.”
Satoru hummed back. “Delayed hit?”
“Mhm.”
“Clever. You going to explain it to me, or not?”
“You don’t need me to,” Sukuna said, and it was true, yes. Six eyes saw so much more than words could hope to say.
Satoru didn’t care.
“So? Explain it anyway.”
“No.”
“You’re no fun.”
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
That became part of the routine too— teleport to Sukuna, destroy Suguru’s body, feel the infinite grief ease from his bones, from his soul.
Satoru didn’t mind this routine.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
They died again. Satoru woke up, and looked forward to a fight.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
“That’s a lot of power,” Satoru mused, catching a fist on his palm. “A lot more fingers than you should have had today. Interesting.”
“It is, isn’t it? I’m coming back with them.” Sukuna smirked. “When I’m back in the brat’s body, he won’t be able to stop me from taking over. Look forward to it, Gojō.”
“I will,” and it was true. Satoru had already considered this option. He had a plan. Sukuna knew that. Satoru knew he did.
Satoru hummed, dodged a buildings, and said, “this probably means you’d wake up every time in your original body if you had all twenty fingers. Shame you won’t get that last one without me.”
“Relentless brat.”
“That didn’t sound like a complaint.”
“It wasn’t.”
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
“You know,” Satoru began, simple domain gleaming beneath his feet, “your shrine is interesting because it’s without bound. Not just because you don’t have a barrier in the traditional sense, but because you paint it without an edge.”
He could have unfolded his domain, opening a void to swallow them whole, but Satoru didn’t feel like it. Malevolent Shrine was beautiful, with six eyes. He was curious to get a better look at it. From how few slashes Sukuna was sending his way, the King of Curses was willing to indulge him.
“Oh?”
That was curiosity. Satoru had spent enough time around Sukuna to tell. It’d been weeks now, hadn’t it? How strange.
“People think domains need barriers because they need a canvas to paint on,” Satoru said, eyes picking the shrine to careful pieces. “They’re wrong. They need a boundary because without it, they’d need to paint forever to reach out. Every piece of domain gets closer to the edge, but if there’s no edge, how can they get closer?” He tapped his head, smiling. “The barrier tricks the brain into finishing.”
“Interesting,” Sukuna drawled, “and correct. It’s not exactly how I visualize the technique, but it is… similar.”
“How’d you do it, then?”
Sukuna stepped closer. “To paint on the raw surface of the world, you need to conquer it. Where I paint, I claim.”
“A fitting answer for the King of Curses.”
Sukuna snorted.
“If you understand the technique,” Sukuna said, eyes sharp, “why not do it yourself?”
“Because I’d kill everyone on the planet,” Satoru shrugged. “Possibly the universe, could even extend to other timelines, it’s really hard to know. I can’t open the Unlimited Void without a barrier. It’s the nature of the beast— it’ll fill any space it’s in. It would always seek to grow.”
Sukuna looked, for a moment, like a man given the world.
“Show me,” came like fire, caught and sparking.
“Not gonna happen.”
“I won’t be satisfied by anything else.”
Satoru tilted his head, curious. Then he smirked. “Too bad.”
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
It took a long time to die, that round. They spent hours circling each other, infinity and the boundless.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
“Now you’re the one smiling, Six Eyes. The fights thrill you too. They always have.”
“Never said they didn’t,” Satoru chirped, and yeah, he was smiling. He was smiling wide enough it hurt.
He teleported behind Sukuna, power collecting across his fingertips.
“But, really, Sukuna. You should call me Satoru,” Satoru said, and shot a playful red at Sukuna’s back. Sukuna caught half on a palm, and let the rest slide past him. He was bloodied by it. Scorched.
He was also looking at Satoru with thoughtful eyes.
“Oh? How… intimate,” a pause, and then, “this body calls you Gojō. You raised him, and he still calls you Gojō. So did the other brat. Who calls you by your name, Six Eyes?”
Satoru tilted his head, unblinking. “Alive? One.”
“You’re desperate, then,” Sukuna concluded, eyes sharp. “To be known, I think. Like a name means anything.”
“We already understand each other better than anyone should,” Satoru said, and it was a bloody truth. Sukuna didn’t deny it. “But that’s not what this is about. Come on, Sukuna. Indulge me.”
Sukuna hummed. After a long moment, he smirked. Men had died on those teeth. Satoru wanted to lick them. Ah, that wasn’t a great thought.
“Beg,” Sukuna ordered.
“Beg?” Satoru asked, opening a void between them on his fingers. “That’s easy. Pretty please, Sukuna, call me Satoru.”
Sukuna raised an eyebrow, and dodged. He said nothing.
“Well? Where’s my name, King of Curses?”
“Oh? Did you think that was begging?” Sukuna’s smirk grew darker. It had an echo like screams. “No, Gojō. We both know you can do better.”
And suddenly, Satoru’s mouth was very, very dry.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
Satoru woke up on December 2nd, and took a moment to consider his life choices.
It was a cold day. They’d all been cold, on the first life and the second one. Satoru could keep a lot of things away from his skin, but a natural cold wasn’t one of them. He could burn it, with fire. Could obliterate it, if he pulled at the gravity of the sun. But that was excessive, wasn’t it? Even for him. In the end, it was easier to just wear clothes.
Satoru pulled on a shirt, and teleported to Sukuna.
“So, what’s it gonna take to get you to use my name? Sucking your cock? Handing you my ass? Letting you eat me?”
Sukuna just watched him, for a moment. The kid at Sukuna’s side bristled, all icy outrage.
“How dare you—“
“Uraume,” Sukuna cut in. “He’s allowed this.”
“Lord Sukuna…”
“Am I?” Satoru leaned in, smirking. “You haven’t just admitted that out loud before.”
“I don’t care about being honest with you.”
“Ouch! I’m hurt.”
“Get out of range,” Sukuna told the brat, and stood. Satoru could feel power bleed off him like ink, dripping from the sky.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
The fight was short and brutal. Satoru ripped off one of Sukuna’s arms and threw it into the blood of the shrine, feeling wild. It was the arm with the thread— not that he’d told Sukuna that. It didn’t matter, anyway. Sukuna grew it back, shook it out, and looked at Satoru.
“You want me,” Sukuna drawled. Satoru smiled, all teeth. It felt like danger.
“Yeah, maybe I do.”
They both died.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
Satoru woke up on December 1st, and went to the gym.
He had some energy to work out.
“Sensei,” Yūji said, all honest eyes and conviction, “I’m not complaining about getting to spar with you, but, uh. Why are you here?”
Satoru flung him across the gym. It was a little too easy, a little too painless. Yūji didn’t even try to cut his arm off.
“I wanted to check on my precious students,” Satoru said, and smiled. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t really a truth either. Ah, damn it. Satoru was restless.
“There aren’t as many of us, these days,” Yūji said. It was quiet, but not broken. Satoru reached out, and ruffled Yūji’s hair.
It was warm. Soft. Satoru wished he’d had more time to raise Yūji well.
“You’ve done well, Yūji.”
Yūji shook his head. “I haven’t. But I’ll keep fighting anyway.”
“None of this is fair to you,” Satoru sighed. “Kids should get to enjoy their youth.”
Yūji didn’t reply. Satoru knew why.
It was a cold day. Far from the hope of summer, and all those days they’d left behind. People they’d both loved had died since then. Yūji couldn’t save them, but Satoru could.
He said his goodbyes, ruffled Yūji’s hair one last time, and teleported to Sukuna.
“You made me wait,” Sukuna murmured. It painted a shadow between them, long and lingering. Satoru thought he saw it reach for him with inky fingers.
He smirked. “Yeah, I did. What are you going to do about it?”
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
They died again. It was vicious, even for them. Blood soaked and brutal.
Satoru woke up, and went to find Sukuna.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
A few days passed like that. Slowly, their fights eased back to a sweet rhythm.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
“I would fuck you, sorcerer, if you begged. It would be a good way to pass the time.”
Satoru didn’t hesitated but it was a near thing. Enough that Sukuna could have used it to kill him. And yet here he stood. Painfully alive.
Huh.
“You think I’m letting you fuck me with my student’s cock?” Satoru asked, and refocused. “You’ve gone senile in your old age.”
“I don’t need your permission.”
“Bullshit, we both know you do,” Satoru chirped, and blocked the next four strikes. They were a little sharper than usual. “Besides,” Satoru said, casual, “you want it, don’t you? You want me to say yes. Can’t say I blame you. The idea of an equal on his knees is hot.”
“It is,” came slowly, “but you wouldn’t have the stomach for my true form,” Sukuna said, steady as the march of time. Satoru saw a kaleidoscope of colors, dancing between them.
He smirked.
“What, you insecure?”
“Men have feared me for longer than your bloodline has existed.”
“Don’t care. It’s the original cock or no cock at all.”
“Cocks,” Sukuna corrected, smirking, and oh, Satoru hadn’t considered that an option. He did now, playing out a future like fire. It felt like he was burning.
He grinned, wide enough to be a threat. “Now you really have my attention.”
Sukuna raised an eyebrow. “Cock hungry little slut, aren’t you?”
“Guilty as charged.”
“Ripping you open with both would be entertaining,” Sukuna drawled, “but a shallow victory. Not as satisfying as a fight.”
“Your dicks won’t kill me, princess. We can do both.”
Sukuna punched a little harder after that.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
“You know,” Sukuna began, thoughtful, “Malevolent Shrine could act as the space for your domain. The boundary for you to paint inside.”
Satoru blinked. “You mean I could expand my domain without limits in your domain?”
Sukuna nodded.
“Huh.” Satoru stared, considering, the world unspooling for his eyes. “Could work. Risky, though, without a barrier on yours.”
“Do you care about the risk, Gojō? You could create something new, something magnificent.”
Satoru thought.
It was November 23rd. Satoru had lived and died thirty three times. There was a thread on his wrist that gleamed like suffering, and pulled like hope.
“Yeah, I do,” Satoru decided. “Besides, I’m not in the mood to play footsie with your domain. Take a man to dinner first.”
“Disappointing,” Sukuna decreed. His eyes, when Satoru found them, were filled with a steady hunger.
Satoru laughed. It was a bright sound. Sharp as ice.
“Liar,” he teased, for them alone, “I’ve never disappointed you.”
Sukuna didn’t reply.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
They fought and died. Satoru liked it.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
Satoru woke up on November 21st.
It was a cold day. The wind came from the north, clinging to stone walls like it could leech away their warmth. Satoru watched its ebb and swirl, the way it bent around the world. It was a cold day. It would get colder.
He pulled on a shirt, and teleported to Sukuna.
“Two days,” Sukuna said, opening four eyes. The words echoed, between them. An infinity Satoru couldn’t watch.
“Aw, you’re keeping count. Cute. I didn’t think you’d be the type to remember anniversaries.”
“You really are good at running your mouth,” Sukuna drawled, and stood from his throne. It looked like a beast uncoiling, stroke by stroke. Ink would have done Sukuna justice, Satoru mused. It would have captured the bleed of him across the world. Shame Satoru hadn’t held a brush in years.
Satoru looked with six eyes. “I’m good at using it too.”
“You have a plan.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yeah,” Satoru chirped. “Think I’ll take a nap. I need a break after all this fighting.”
“You don’t,” Sukuna said, and sighed. “Two days, Gojō. I’m going to be bored.”
“You will,” Satoru agreed, and cracked his neck. “Why don’t we give you something to remember while I’m gone?”
They fought. It was good. Warm and playful. Satoru let it go like that for a while, watching their energy swirl and dance. But even he couldn’t stop time. It was the one infinity he’d never mastered.
He really had to stop putting this off.
The next time Sukuna struck him, Satoru let the cursed technique land. He let it cut in him half, and leashed his healing with an iron grip. It was a quick death, but not instant. It didn’t need to be.
“My turn,” Satoru grinned.
“You—”
There was a heartbeat, before he died, where he met four cursed eyes. They’d gone still, wide, like blood frozen before it could splatter. Surprise was a good look on the King of Curses. It made Sukuna look like a man.
“Shit,” Satoru realized, “I want to kiss you.”
He died.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
Satoru woke up on November 20th, with a flare of cursed energy building across the horizon.
“Ah.”
His door slammed open just as he was sitting up.
“Sensei, it’s—“
“I know Yūji, don’t worry.” Satoru stood and stretched, watching flame burn towards him. “This is all according to plan.”
Sukuna destroyed the building with a single arrow— or he would have, if Satoru hadn’t stepped in the way and blocked it. Satoru shook out his hand, stepping through the last curls of fire. It was a cold day, but he didn’t feel it.
Fire was always warm.
“So you do still know how to block,” echoed through the dust. “I’d wondered if you’d forgotten. But no. It seems you still know how to fight if you’re protecting something, at least.”
Sukuna walked towards him with slow leisure and a long shadow. There was malice in those eyes. Satoru saw it gasp and boil.
Sukuna wasn’t smiling.
“Don’t take it so personally,” Satoru replied. There were a lot of people standing behind him, now. He waved them back. It wouldn’t be far enough, but that was fine. Satoru had to trust his students to take care of themselves. Even from him. “You should be honored I let you kill me.”
“Honored?” Sukuna’s voice was low. “I know what you’re up to, Gojō. You think I’ll fall for such an obvious trap?”
“I think you already have,” Satoru taunted. “Look at you. Your cursed energy is howling, Sukuna. One fight without my all, and you’re already this worked up. You’re so easy.”
“Maybe I should rip your students apart to remind you why we’re fighting.”
Satoru was moving before the words teased across the first blush of his infinity. Sukuna blocked the first punch, and the second, but not the third. Satoru caught him on the chin and followed him back, a red charging in the womb of his fingers.
“You could try,” Satoru said, and nearly close enough to kiss.
Sukuna growled, twisted away, and dodged the burst of red. “You never fail to rush towards death, Six Eyes. How boring life must have been for you.”
“Boring, yeah. But not lonely.”
Sukuna’s fingers twitched.
“Domain Expansion,” he said, but it was a second too slow.
Satoru had counted on that.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
This time, Satoru won. Sukuna died.
Time didn’t reset.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
Satoru looked down at Megumi’s body. His student looked small, in the dust. Half gone, blown away by Satoru’s own power. It was a cold day to mourn, but Satoru was used to that.
He felt hollow.
“I’m sorry, sensei,” came from his side. “It’s my fault you had to kill him.”
It was, in a way, but it wasn’t in every way that mattered.
Satoru sighed. It was quiet. “No, Yūji, it wasn’t.”
Satoru turned and looked out at the world. There were so few people. The world looked dark under his six eyes, cast in shadow. A hollow world for a hollow victory.
Satoru put a hand on Yūji’s shoulder.
“Yūji,” he asked, “if you could save everyone that’s died since October just by dying, would you?”
Yūji looked up at him with wide, haunted eyes.
“Yes,” rasped out, “I would do it in a heartbeat.”
Satoru smiled, and looked at the red string fluttering on his wrist. That settled it, then.
“I knew you’d say that, Yūji.”
“Do you need to kill me? What can I do?”
“Nothing. Or wait no, that’s not right.” He poked Yūji in the cheek, harsh. “You can live, and live well. That’s your homework from me, your favorite teacher!”
It was true. Yūji’s face still went cold. It was that scar, Satoru mused. He didn’t like it.
“But I… how can I? Sensei, so many people have died because of me. At my hands.”
“Mine too,” Satoru said. “And I can still live.”
“I…”
“It’s alright, Yūji. I have a way to fix this. Now get the others over here. We need to talk.”
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
“… and so, the obvious solution is to kill myself.”
There was a moment of silence, then. It echoed, and echoed.
“Because of time travel,” Maki said, flat as a curse.
“Because of time travel,” Satoru agreed, smiling.
“Only you, sensei,” Yūta sighed. It was hollow, Satoru thought. Sad, because of him. He really hated it when his students were sad. Shōko’s fingers were shaking around her cigarette. Satoru hated that too.
Yūji took a deep breath, and asked, “can it be me instead?”
“No,” Satoru said, and didn’t say that he’d never have let Yūji take his place, even if it was possible. That truth didn’t matter. “It’s a red string of fate. Impossible to see until it’s been pulled taut, even with my eyes. Sukuna and I, we’re bound. We die together, or we live together, with nothing in between. Pretty romantic, huh? Of course, one of Sukuna’s fingers still exists, so he’s not dead. It’s my death that resets the timeline. That’s what I was testing this last time.”
He continued, crisp. “There’s a good chance you’ll forget all of this, but if you don’t, make sure you remember— it wasn’t your fault. My death isn’t your fault.”
“Sensei…”
“…Satoru.”
Small, quiet, came, “but we just got you back.”
“I know,” and he did. He understood, even as they couldn’t understand him. They’d all bloomed beautifully. Satoru was proud of them. “There’s a 98% chance that it’ll work. Trust me.”
“Okay,” Yūji said, after a long moment. Satoru had known he would.
“Good kid,” he said, and—
Yūji hugged him. “Thank you, Gojō-sensei. For everything.”
Gently, Satoru put a hand on Yūji’s head.
“You’re welcome,” he said, and meant thank you. He looked up, at Yūta and Shōko and the rest. Grinned.
“Well, come on. Is only Yūji going to hug me?”
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
He teleported away. Over the ocean, he floated. It was a nice day. Clear skies, beautiful sunshine, a chill winter breeze. Satoru took a second to look and remember.
“No time like the present,” he mused, and stabbed himself in the throat with his fingers.
What a nostalgic way to die.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
Satoru woke up, and didn’t know the day. Time was hard to track in the prison realm.
This was promising, though. It meant time had kept going back. It also confirmed what Satoru had guessed— didn’t need to die at Sukuna’s hands. His own would do.
“I wonder what way is the simplest…” he mused, glancing around. His cursed energy was locked out of reach, of course, but there were other things around. Satoru pulled out a brittle bone, snapped it in half, and grimaced.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
Satoru died.
And then he woke up.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
Satoru died.
And then he woke up.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
Satoru died.
.
.
.
Then he woke up.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
Satoru woke up on October 31st, in Shibuya station, at 9:01pm, with the blood of a special grade curse splattered across one wall.
He ignored it, and glanced out, at the world.
It was so bright. Satoru had forgotten it could be. He’d looked out over a cold world for weeks. A dark one, drained of enough life that it felt like night after a lifetime of days.
A human soul was barely a spark under six eyes. A flicker, easily snuffed in the wind. Even sorcerers were no different, really— no flame could survive a storm. But gather enough sparks, and they could burst, burn, and bloom.
Yeah. Dying was worth it. It’d always been worth it.
“Why did you stop?”
Satoru looked up. The volcano curse, the one he’d nearly killed as a demonstration for Yūji. It looked small among the nebula of humanity. A tiny little curse, with a tiny little understanding of the world.
“Ah, this is so nostalgic,” Satoru murmured. “Being back here.”
The curse shifted, tense. Satoru had caught him off guard. Not a surprise. The real surprise was that in approximately 10 minutes, Satoru had been the one caught off guard.
Not this time.
Satoru glanced at his wrist. The red string twitched, shifted, pulled taut.
“I’ll have to finish this quick,” Satoru decided. “The wife’s a jealous one.”
“You—”
“Domain Expansion,” Satoru said, and it felt easier than breathing. It also felt wrong, without another domain to challenge it.
Unlimited Void spread out for less than a heartbeat, and Satoru used that time to obliterate the volcano curse. Choso, he left alive. The people— silent, paralyzed, cripplingly normal, but with a spark still— he gently pushed to the side, clearing part of the platform. They wouldn’t wake. Not for months.
He couldn’t feel Kenjaku yet. The parasite must be hiding. Satoru looked with six wide eyes, and saw nothing.
A barrier? No. Something to hide him from Satoru and only Satoru. He had to be close, with the prison realm ready. Mahito had arrived on the train… there was a chance Kenjaku was with him.
Satoru kept looking.
The string fluttered across his wrist, tugging and tugging. A demanding string, for a demanding man, seared like fire into Satoru’s eyes.
It was pointing down the tunnel.
Slowly, Satoru grinned. He settled, standing on the platform with an unfamiliar ease.
Then he waited for the train.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
It pulled up within two minutes. Empty, at first glance, but Satoru knew it wasn’t. He could feel the warmth, bleeding with purpose.
The doors opened.
“Gojō,” came like fire, dark in the night. Sukuna stepped out of the train, Suguru’s body dragged behind him. Dead, clearly, with the brain burned to a fine ash.
Satoru almost sighed in relief.
And that— that was what Satoru really noticed, as he watched with all eyes. The train opened, the King of Curses walked out, and Satoru felt relieved. Not just by Suguru’s body, cold and dead. Not just because the train was empty of all but shadows and ashes.
No. Satoru knew why he was relieved.
“Sukuna,” Satoru greeted. “You’re back in Yūji. There goes—“
“Nineteen times. You killed yourself nineteen times.”
The words cut, across Satoru and the air, the platform, the world. They sounded wrong.
“Which is as many fingers as you have,” Satoru said. “Kinda romantic.”
“Gojō.”
“Don’t call my name like that. It was better than wasting away in the prison realm.”
“There were other ways.”
“Like what?”
“Me.”
Satoru snorted. “Were you coming to save me, Sukuna? My knight in shining vessel? I don’t think so.”
Sukuna didn’t reply. Six eyes watched, drunk on the habit of looking at Sukuna.
He paused. Reevaluated.
“… seriously?”
“Nineteen sorcerers,” Sukuna said. It was a threat. “That’s how many lives I’m owed. I’ll start with your students.”
“I’ll kill you first.”
“Will you?” Sukuna took a step forward. Flame, stalking in the night. “Or will you kill yourself?”
“Oh,” Satoru realized, “you’re upset.”
Sukuna stopped. He was a few steps away. It was strange to see him in Yūji’s body. A blaze, where there should have been a hearth. Sukuna’s fire was hungry, wasn’t it? Satoru knew that first hand, familiar and greedy for it.
Still… there was something Satoru couldn’t quite name in the line of Sukuna’s jaw.
“Why?”
“Your death belongs to me,” Sukuna said, a decree from a king, “and I don’t tolerate theft.”
Satoru tilted his head. “I don’t remember offering myself to you.”
“I don’t remember asking.”
“That won’t work on me, Sukuna.” The words tasted warm.
For a moment, Sukuna stayed quiet. It was an eerie sort of silence. Satoru almost—
“Very well,” came at last, “a pact, then.”
“You just keep surprising me tonight,” Satoru murmured, and then, “your terms?”
“I will not kill humans for a year.”
Satoru blinked six eyes.
“Not under any circumstances?”
“Under none.”
“Not even if they annoy you?”
“Not even then.”
“Not even if you’re hungry for human meat? I heard you got really into that. Nasty.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand good taste, but no,” Sukuna said, cold, “not even then. Do you have more idiotic questions, or are you done?”
“Not even close. Why would you offer that,” Satoru mused, focused on Sukuna. “What do you want? Me? The world at your feet?”
“You,” Sukuna agreed, easy, “and my last finger.”
“And how,” Satoru asked, leaning forward, “do you want me?”
“However I please,” Sukuna said. “On your knees. On your back. The position doesn’t matter. But Gojō,” and then soft and serious, “you will not die unless I kill you. You will belong to me until we both choose death.”
“All that, and I only get a year of your good behavior?” Satoru smirked with teeth. “I need more than that, Sukuna.”
Four eyes narrowed, but they didn’t look surprised. Sukuna had only looked surprised once. Satoru remembered that day.
“Your terms?” Sukuna asked, and Satoru smiled.
There was a part of him that didn’t understand. It was the cold rational core of him, that spun and planned. Sukuna was planning something. That was obvious. Satoru didn’t understand what could compel the King of Curses into this.
And yet.
Slow, easy, Satoru said, “give me eternity.”
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
Satoru crouched next to Suguru’s body, and remembered happier days.
No, that wasn’t fair. The past wasn’t happier. It was different. Today had new joys, ones that gleamed under the sunlight, collected across Satoru’s palms. His students, Megumi. The challenge of fighting Sukuna, the ease of standing next to an equal. Shōko chain smoking out of the morgue, Ijichi’s ease to tease. The little joys. They were as fragile as people, and he’d protect them just the same.
Change, Satoru had found, was good. He wished Suguru had held these joys too.
“The days back then,” he told Suguru, “they weren’t better. But I was happy. Rest well, Suguru.”
He closed Suguru’s eyes, and rose to his feet.
It was cold. He felt it eat into his hands, tease under skin to nip at the soul, the bones, the body. It was cold, and Satoru felt it.
He looked at Suguru. Destroying the body would take out a good chunk of the station, even with his control. Satoru could do it. Had done it, dozens of times.
But there was another option.
“Hey,” he said. At his side, Sukuna hummed. “Burn him for me?”
There was a pause. A gentle shifting of the world. Then, flame. Satoru let himself have a minute to watch the ashes fall.
Then he turned to Sukuna.
Sukuna looked settled. Mad, too, but mostly settled. He always had. A patient man, a curse that drifted through the ages on a whim. Sukuna did as Sukuna pleased, and that was that.
And Sukuna had waited for Satoru to mourn.
“Thanks,” he offered, and the King of Curses only nodded. So Satoru pulled his blindfold up, and got to work.
“When’s Yūji coming back?”
“Soon,” Sukuna admitted, looking sour. It was a funny expression on the face of such a dangerous man. Satoru liked it.
“Good. I’ll be in touch by morning. Earlier, maybe.” Satoru paused. “You’re coming with me after that.”
“Obviously.” Sukuna glanced up, vaguely towards the surface. “Uraume will follow.”
Satoru made a face, and won a snort. “That brat.”
“You’re worse,” Sukuna drawled, and then, “what will your precious students think of this, Gojō?”
“My students will get used to it.”
“And the others?”
“They don’t matter,” Satoru said, and it was the truth. He would kill them, if he had to. For a better tomorrow. To protect a flower. He’d kill Sukuna too, but he didn’t think he had to anymore.
Sukuna hummed.
“I’ll be waiting,” came like a curse, and then Sukuna was gone. The tattoos faded, and slowly, kinder eyes blinked awake. There was comfort, in seeing Yūji wake up. His face was softer, warmer. Happier, Satoru thought, and traced the void where a scar had been.
Today was a good day.
“Yūji,” Satoru greeted, smiling, “welcome back!”
“Ah! Sensei!” Yūji blinked. Looked around, and went pale. “Sukuna took control he—”
“I know. It’s alright, Yūji. Don’t worry.”
Slowly, came, “did he hurt anyone?”
“You don’t remember?”
That was different from the other times Sukuna had taken control. Convenient, in this case, though Satoru wouldn’t have cared much if Yūji’d heard them.
“No, no, I— it’s all muddled.”
“Interesting. But you don’t need to worry, he didn’t go on a rampage,” Satoru said, and it was hardly a lie. “He killed Mahito, actually.”
“Oh,” Yūji murmured, glancing down. There was a long quiet. Satoru let it linger.
“You wanted to kill him yourself.”
“Yeah, but I… it doesn’t matter. It’s better that he can’t hurt anyone else anymore.”
Satoru thought of another curse, and said, “it is. Revenge can be a strong motivator. But it can make it hard to fight clearly.”
“Right.”
Satoru clapped his hands together, feeling light. This world was bright enough to blind him.
“Alright! Come on. We’re taking care of the rest of the curses.”
Slowly, Yūji straightened up, the sadness flaking off his smile. “Yes, sensei!”
Satoru smiled back. This was why Yūji was his favorite. Nobara and Megumi had a lot to learn from this kid. This time, they’d get to. Satoru would—
A shift, at the corner of his vision.
“Ah,” Satoru realized, blocking the needle of blood before it could gut Yūji. “I forgot.”
“Sensei?”
Satoru waved Yūji to stand down.
“Hey, Chōsō,” he called, “don’t try to kill your brother. It’s rude.”
There was a beat of absolute silence.
“What?”
Satoru smirked. This was going to be fun.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
Satoru wiped out every curse in Shibuya. It didn’t take long. He ripped and tore and teleported over and over and over. It was dull. A routine. Better, for having his students at his side, but still dull.
Satoru hated routines.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
“The elders will try to kill you and Yūji,” he said, sitting on Yaga’s couch. “I’ve called in a few favors, talked to a few people. They’ll come keep an eye on things while I’m out. I don’t think it’ll be more than a few days.”
Truthfully, Satoru didn’t know how long it would be. How long he’d let it be. He leaned back, looking at the ceiling, through stone and wood and the very sky. The stars, as he saw them, were clear.
“Satoru,” Yaga began, and ah he sounded so tired. Satoru had missed him. “What are you going to do?”
Satoru smirked. “You sure you want an answer?”
“I do,” Yaga replied, steady, terrified. Terrified for Satoru. He shouldn’t be.
“I made a binding vow with Sukuna.”
“…what did you promise?”
“Gojō Satoru,” he said, pointing at himself. “To tame Ryōmen Sukuna, I offered up Gojō Satoru.”
“You offered what—“
“It’s not as mad as it sounds. If he kills me, he’ll die too.”
“This is your life, Satoru,” Yaga yelled, “you gave him your life.”
“Actually, I mostly promised him first dibs on my death,” Satoru said, and looked back at Yaga. “That and my ass.”
“Satoru—”
“Don’t worry, old man. I want this.”
There was a long, pained sigh. “Now I’m more worried.”
Satoru laughed.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
“… so I’ll feed you the twentieth finger, and you’ll be free of Sukuna forever, Yūji.”
“Because of the binding vow,” Megumi said, harsh.
“Because of the binding vow,” Satoru agreed.
“This is ridiculous,” Nobara muttered, and kicked at her desk. The others looked like they agreed, staring at Satoru with varying levels of shock, fear, and worry.
Ah, Satoru had missed this.
“Sometimes ridiculous is just what you need to win,” Satoru said, and leaned forward in his chair. They were sitting in the school, in the dust and chalk of their usual classroom. Satoru had dragged them here as soon as Shibuya was handled. Nostalgia, mostly, but also to keep an eye on Yaga until those favors came to call.
Yūji shifted. He looked nervous. “What will happen to him?”
“He’ll manifest his own body.”
Yūji, Megumi, and Nobara all made noises of shock.
Satoru smiled.
Megumi went pale. “Are you insane?”
“That’s it, he’s lost it.”
“Are you going to fight him, sensei?”
“Eventually,” Satoru hedged, and it wasn’t wrong. “For now, the vow will keep him behaving. He won’t kill anyone until that’s done.”
“It’s Sukuna,” Megumi hissed, “even you can’t control him.”
“It’s a long story, but he’s harmless! For now.”
A mouth popped up on Yūji’s cheek. “You’ll pay for that.”
“I’m counting on it,” Satoru replied, smirking.
There was a long and echoing silence. Satoru thought he heard crickets, chirping in the background. Odd. He thought he’d killed all the cricket curses he’d found.
Nobara stared at him. “Did you just flirt?”
“All part of the strategy,” Satoru chirped, and that, apparently, was Megumi’s breaking point. Satoru was surprised he’d lasted so long.
“You’re an idiot,” Megumi spat, standing up, “I can’t believe you.”
“Megumi—“
“— you know who he is, Gojō-sensei. You should know! What did you promise?”
“Your son is concerned,” Sukuna mused, mouth wide and vicious on Yūji’s cheek. “He should be.”
Satoru ignored him. He ignored the way Megumi went still at the word son too.
“It’s fine, Megumi. Have a little faith in your teacher.”
“I don’t,” Megumi cut back, but he relaxed a fraction, settling back on his heels. There was a moment, then, of quiet. Satoru watched the three of them. They looked so young, like this. There was no tragedy cutting into their stares, no aching hollows. Grief, yes. All sorcerers carried grief. But this time, they’d have the time to mourn.
Satoru would ensure it.
Yūji shifted. “How did you get him to agree? He seems…”
Nobara snorted. “Like an asshole?”
“Yeah!”
Satoru laughed. “Luckily, Yūji, your teacher can handle that.”
“Ah! Is it because you’re strong?”
“Yep!”
“I want to be there,” Megumi said, and it was a demand. Cute.
“Me too,” Nobara echoed.
Satoru tilted his head, looking at them. They stared back. Slowly, he smiled.
“Well, if it’s a request from my precious students, how could I refuse?”
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
That’s how they ended up here— Yūji and the others scattered around him, standing deep in the woods of the school. It was cold. Both with the chill of winter, and from the night. Satoru didn’t mind it.
“Shouldn’t we have some seals?” Megumi muttered, shifting. “Another barrier? This is so… exposed.”
“Ijichi’s is enough,” Satoru said.
“This is so stupid,” Nobara decided.
Satoru laughed, and pulled down his blindfold. The world burned into clarity, echoes of color painted from sky to six feet under. So many sparks to see.
Satoru pulled out the last finger, and tossed it to Yūji. “Here, Yūji.”
Megumi shifted. “You’re sure—”
“I’m sure.”
Yūji swallowed it.
The world was quiet in the moment Ryōmen Sukuna reincarnated in the flesh. Still in a way that was hard to place. The wind held its breath, and so did Satoru, if only for a heartbeat.
And then it began.
Satoru watched Sukuna rip free of Yūji with six unblinking eyes. Ink, pouring from the canvas of skin, as if Yūji was a painting and Sukuna was recreating himself from that frame.
Four arms. Taller than Satoru. Broader too, with the coiled strength of a tiger. Four eyes, two mouths, and a hell of a lot of muscle. Each bone and vein painted with the casual skill of a master, unmaking a void for a body.
And then, at last, it was done. The weight of Sukuna settled, bloodthirst uncoiling to lick at Satoru’s skin. The infinity of Sukuna was consuming— thick, malicious energy coiling in the air, paint waiting for its master. Satoru’s students shuddered under it, paralyzed, and he couldn’t blame them. It was a lot. Twenty fingers was a hell of a lot. Satoru wanted to test that strength between his teeth.
It helped, of course, that Sukuna was naked.
Satoru whistled.
“Sukuna,” he said, and he couldn’t have stopped the smile if he’d wanted to. “That’s quite the view.”
“Gojō,” Sukuna replied, and rolled out broad shoulders. Satoru’s mouth felt a little dry. “You didn’t bring clothes?”
“Didn’t think I needed to.”
Sukuna rolled four eyes, and reached for him. One hand brushed his cheek, traced a line across the curve of Satoru’s jaw. There was no limitless, between them. Satoru had melted it into the stars.
There were, however, three teenagers watching them.
An aborted shift to the side, and—
“Know your place,” Sukuna drawled, and it was for Megumi, but he never looked away from Satoru. That was good. Satoru wasn’t sure what he’d have done, if Sukuna’s eyes hadn’t been on him. Ah, this was a curse.
He still activated limitless.
Sukuna narrowed his eyes, forced away by a hair. “Don’t test me.”
“Don’t test me,” Satoru replied, “these are my students.”
The bloodlust faded by degrees, color by color, until it was for Satoru, and no one else. Satoru smirked, and turned off limitless.
Sukuna grabbed him by the chin.
“Gojō-sensei—“
“It’s alright,” Satoru said, light as snow, “I’ll deal with him. You two take Yūji and get out of here. Get some sleep, it’s been a long day.”
“You can’t seriously expect us to leave you when he’s grabbing you like that.”
“Good observation, Nobara. You’re right, he’s grabbing me,” Satoru agreed, feeling fingers against his skin, “so what does that tell you?”
There was a sigh, from the side. Sounded like Megumi. “…that you’re an idiot.”
Satoru grinned. He never looked away from Sukuna.
“Ah! Sensei turned off—”
“Come on,” Megumi said, and Satoru heard footsteps. “If you die, I’m never forgiving you.”
“I won’t,” Satoru promised, and it wasn’t a lie.
His students left.
“They’re worried about you,” Sukuna drawled, rubbing a thumb over Satoru’s skin.
“They shouldn’t be,” Satoru answered. It felt good to be touched. Years of limitless had left him aching for it. Satoru had known that, of course. He knew himself. It hadn’t mattered until now.
He tapped the hand holding his chin. “This is useless. I’m not going anywhere.”
“You think this is to trap you? No.” Sukuna tugged, and Satoru followed, taking a step forward, tilting his chin up. Begging in all but words.
Sukuna ignored it.
“I won’t trap you, Gojō,” Sukuna said, and let go. Satoru wanted to rip him to pieces.
“Oh?” Satoru grinned. It must have been a wild look. Must have been beastly, unchained and unwritten. “Then how will you keep me?”
“Willingly,” Sukuna smirked, and oh that was a dark look. Satoru wanted to sink his teeth into it. “Now teleport us to a bed, or I’ll fuck you here.”
“Promises, promises,” Satoru said, and did just as he was told.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
He took them to one of the many Gojō estates. An isolated one, nestled up against a mountain, surrounded by trees. It was a pretty place— all dark wood and elegant lines, the simple opulence of a clan old enough to measure in centuries, instead of decades.
No one had lived here in years, but it was kept clean. Satoru used it to rest his eyes after long missions, when the city was too much, and even sparks ached to see. It would work for this, too. There was a hot springs in the back, and plenty of beds for them to break.
Satoru teleported them straight to a bedroom.
“This isn’t yours,” Sukuna said, looking around, curious. He filled the space in a way men couldn’t master, his body towering, his shadow monstrous. Satoru took a moment to watch it, unblinking. Sukuna looked good in his original form. Inky and unchained. Not hiding behind another face, not using another body, but free.
Satoru liked it.
“It is,” he countered.
“It’s not lived in, sorcerer,” came like fire. Sukuna stood, bare and steady. Regal. There was something there. Something tense.
“Back to sorcerer, are we? I thought we had gotten closer.”
“You won’t be able to keep me a secret for long,” Sukuna said. A threat, if Satoru glanced. A question, if he truly looked.
Satoru barked a laugh. “You think I care? I just don’t want to be interrupted. The barriers here are top-notch. No one will be able to find us unless we destroy the whole place.”
Sukuna hummed. He stepped towards Satoru, menacing, like ink dripping from a tiger.
Satoru didn’t run.
“Destroy, huh? That’s a good idea,” Sukuna mused, and a hand sunk into Satoru’s hair, pulling and pulling until Satoru’s neck was arched. Exposed. An offering for Sukuna, and sharp teeth. Satoru groaned, and let it happen.
And then, thoughtful, “I could be persuaded to fuck you through a few walls.”
“I thought I was going to have to beg,” Satoru managed, eyes fluttering.
“You will.”
Sukuna leaned in, close enough to kiss. His breath was hot, the plume of a fire come to brush Satoru’s skin, scorch his lungs. Satoru had never wanted to kiss someone more in his life.
And Sukuna—
Sukuna didn’t kiss him. The King of Curses leaned down instead, biting at his throat. Hard enough to bruise, but not bleed. How gentle. How cruel.
“You’re a tease,” Satoru complained, “at least bite me for real.”
Sukuna smirked against his skin.
“You’re used to getting your way,” Sukuna said, “but so am I. And I’m not in the mood to indulge you.”
And that was all the warning Satoru had.
Sukuna lifted him clean off the ground, two hands under his thighs to hold him steady, another gripping his hair, forcing his back into an arch. The fourth, Satoru didn’t feel. He was sure it’d show up eventually. He was more interested in the cocks rutting across his stomach.
“What kingly proportions,” he said, wildly breathless. Sukuna was still biting him. It felt glorious. “How’d you even get them in a woman back then? I heard people were a lot smaller.”
“You sound nervous, Gojō,” purred into his skin. It sounded pleased.
Satoru grinned, grabbed Sukuna by the shoulders, locked his ankles behind Sukuna’s back, and slammed them together.
They both groaned.
“Nah,” he said, rolling his hips, fingers digging into whatever skin he could find, “I’m really not. You gonna carry me to bed?”
“I’m considering it. Don’t worry,” Sukuna drawled, “if I drop you, it’ll be on my cocks.”
“Reassuring,” Satoru said, tilting his chin up, giving Sukuna more room. Sukuna took it, finally. The next bite was hard, vicious. Satoru felt blood well up and drip drip drip—
“Ah,” came pleased, “you taste good.”
“Of course. I’m blessed by the heavens, after all.”
Sukuna laughed, and rolled his hips. Satoru twitched. He was already hard, of course. Had been since that first bite, since Sukuna had first put rough hands on his skin.
He really wanted out of these pants, and—
“Fuck that’s good,” Satoru hissed, grinning at the ceiling. He moored himself on Sukuna, fingers digging into broad shoulders, eyes wide and unseeing.
Sukuna bit him again, and again.
“That’s a little mean,” Satoru groaned. It wasn’t a complaint. “You still mad?”
Satoru felt death smirk against his skin. “What do you think?”
“That you’re pissed,” Satoru smirked, panting.
“Oh? You don’t sound worried, Gojō.”
“I’m fucking thrilled,” Satoru purred. “Now hurry up and fuck me. I want a taste of your cocks.”
“You’ll take what you’re given,” Sukuna answered, and pulled back. Not far. Not far enough that Satoru felt the need to force him back, but far enough that four eyes could meet six. There were harsh red lines across Sukuna’s shoulders, and blood staining his teeth. He looked good.
Satoru wanted to paint the sight on his eyes.
Satoru let his head go lax in Sukuna’s grip, and asked, “like what you see?”
“Gojō Satoru, needy and panting… yeah,” Sukuna drawled, “I like it.”
“Could be needier.”
Sukuna smirked, squeezing Satoru’s thighs. “We’ll get there. Be patient.”
“Not, ah, fuck, not great at that.”
“You don’t have a choice,” Sukuna drawled, and oh that was where that last hand had disappeared to.
“That’s hot,” Satoru decided. “That’s really hot.”
Sukuna hummed, flicked a hand, and Satoru’s clothes shredded down the back, riches made rags before a king.
Satoru froze. The world kept turning, fraction by fraction. His shirt hung in tatters, falling and falling until it barely clung to his wrists. Satoru felt like he was barely clinging on too. He knew that technique.
“That was the move you used to kill me,” Satoru murmured.
Sukuna met his eyes. “It was.”
“You haven’t used it since the first fight.”
“I haven’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew you’d thought of a counter,” Sukuna said, with an ease like a king, a god, and Satoru has never believed in a heaven he wasn’t on top of but it felt like he’d seen a sun.
Helpless, vicious, he said, “kiss me.”
“Beg,” Sukuna said, and that was it. Satoru had hit the limit of his patience. He flexed his thighs, sunk his fingers into the wall, and spun their gravity like a thread.
Both of them slammed into the wall— and into the next, and the next, taking down a good quarter of the house with their momentum.
Satoru caught them as they slid across a courtyard, snapping their gravity back in place with his damn teeth. He ended up straddling Sukuna, hands braced on either side of that smirk, bare skin prickling in the cold. The stone was cold under his knees, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t.
Satoru reached up, traced just beneath one of Sukuna’s eyes. Pressed down, flirting with a bruise.
“No,” he said, and it came out rasping, “I won’t beg. Kiss me or I’ll kill you.”
Sukuna smiled.
“Good boy,” came like fire, and then Sukuna was kissing him.
Things got messy after that. Wild, in a way that could crush a few mountains. Sukuna licked him open— handy thing, mouth on a palm— until Satoru was shivering, growling. His thighs ached from straddling Sukuna, his cock was hard and leaking, and there was a twitch in his fingers that wasn’t going away.
And still, Sukuna’s tongue kept fucking him.
“Enough, enough,” he groaned, “get in me already.”
The wind was cold, but Satoru was hot enough to boil.
He reached for a cock, either one, he didn’t care. He never made it. Sukuna grabbed his hands, his hips, his hair— forced him still. Satoru strained against it, muscle for muscle. No cursed energy, because he wasn’t a cheater.
“Look at you,” Sukuna smirked, teasing Satoru with the tip of a cock. “You’re fighting so hard against my grip— it feels stronger than when you were trying to kill me.”
A hot mouth licked up Satoru’s neck, biting at his throat until he bled.
Low, Sukuna mused, “maybe you were holding back after all. It looks like a cock was what you needed to really put your back int it.”
“If I don’t have a cock in me in ten seconds,” Satoru rasped, “I’ll— ah.”
The noises Satoru made when Sukuna worked a cock into him were gaspy and delighted. Not embarrassing, because Satoru had never had the curse of shame, but definitely wild. Punched out, too, because that cock was taking all the room Satoru usually used for breathing.
It was just one cock, to start. The top one. Both would be for later.
“Fuck,” he managed, “you’re big.”
Sukuna smirked, and sunk a little deeper. One big hand caught Satoru’s wrist and pulled it down, to rest at the crest of his stomach.
“Feel that?” Sukuna murmured, cursing fire straight into Satoru’s fucking veins. “You’re taking me so well, Gojō. You’re good at this.”
Satoru could feel it. He could feel it in his fucking throat. The cock was giving his stomach a curve it hadn’t had in his entire life, forced to mold to the King of Curses. Soft, rounded, where Satoru was all whipcrack muscle.
Satoru liked it. He pressed down, shivering, feeling the tension under his skin. Sukuna twitched beneath him.
“Yeah,” Satoru breathed, and decided he didn’t want to wait. He tugged at their gravity again— just his, this time, to force himself down.
Satoru took the rest of Sukuna’s cock in a heartbeat.
“Gojō,” Sukuna hissed, fingers bruising across Satoru’s waist. Satoru almost didn’t hear. There were stars, blooming, falling, and dying across his eyes. He laughed, breathing with his jaw open, deep panting gasps.
“What,” he taunted, “too fast for you?”
Sukuna growled, surging up, tumbling them over and down until he loomed above Satoru like the night above the sky. Satoru laughed again, and again, until Sukuna swallowed that whole too.
The kiss was good. Better than good. Satisfying, feeding a beast Satoru hadn’t meant to let loose, something dark and feral and hungry for Sukuna. It also distracted him long enough for Sukuna to get the upper hand.
Well. Upper hands. Two for his two hands, gripping them to pin above his head. Another for his waist, forcing it still. One more for his chin, the hinge of his jaw, holding it open.
Like Satoru was going to close his mouth.
“You’ll take,” Sukuna said, smooth and dark, “what I give you.”
“That’s what I was doing,” Satoru complained, all teeth, jaw grinding against Sukuna’s grip. He’d be bruised, later. “You make me wait, you pay the price. I thought a king could keep up— oh fuck.”
It was the tongue, the damn tongue, the one that came from Sukuna’s torso and was the size of a cat. It licked at Satoru’s cock, rasping it wet and twitching. Satoru caught a full body flinch before it could be born.
“Shit, ah,” Satoru panted, clenching. He felt so fucking full. “Oh, that’s so hot. You should lick me open with that tongue next time, I think it’d break me.”
There was a sigh, then. Too warm to be anything but fond. Satoru tried not to melt into it.
“I’m really getting tired of your mouth,” Sukuna mused, and thumbed Satoru’s jaw like it’d personally offended him. “Open your eyes, Gojō. I won’t have you looking away from me.”
Satoru hadn’t realized he’d closed them.
He opened six eyes in the darkness, and looked at Sukuna, looming above him. The King of Curses looked like death in the night, the shadow that followed the last light to go out. It was a good look. Like the drip of ink before consumption.
Satoru liked it. He licked his lips, cock jolting under Sukuna’s tongue.
“Kiss me,” he demanded, and so Sukuna did. Sukuna fucked him until Satoru’s legs were shaking, until his back arched off the ground and he came, twitching, between their bodies. The tongue lapped at his skin after, ruthless, even as Satoru was a nerve rubbed raw.
They kept at it just like that for two rounds. Sukuna came, eventually, stuffing Satoru full of cum. He didn’t stop, after that— just pulled out and switched cocks.
“Nice trick,” Satoru panted, licking into Sukuna’s mouth. He felt wet and disgusting. It was glorious.
“I have more,” Sukuna purred, and thumbed Satoru’s cock. It went hard so fast it hurt.
“Reverse cursed technique? Really? I could have done that myself.”
Sukuna licked up his face, hot from chin to cheek. It felt like fire across his skin.
“You were taking too long,” the curse said, and kept moving.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
“So,” Satoru began, many hours later, “you don’t like it when I play domesticated.”
He was spread out across the courtyard, cold from the stone, and entirely satisfied. Fucked within an inch of his life, too, and it felt like it. Satoru’s hips were sore from spreading his legs, his ass ached— gaped, actually, twitching weakly like it had been bullied open enough to stay that way. There was cum in him and on him, possibly splattered all the way up to his neck. He wasn’t really sure what had made his hair go stiff. Could have been blood, could have been cum, could have been Sukuna’s need to lick him clean.
Whatever it was, Satoru liked it. He liked the marks, too. There were bites spread like constellations across his throat, his thighs, even his ass. They’d bled at first, low and sluggish. Sukuna had licked them clean every time.
Satoru could have healed it all. He didn’t.
A hand caught his chin, brushing a thumb across his lips. Satoru let it land.
Slowly, Sukuna tugged him forward by the chin, two hands lifting Satoru off the ground and into a warm lap, sheltered from the cold wind. Satoru steadied with a hand on Sukuna’s chest. The King of Curses was hard again. Satoru could feel it. Satoru liked it.
He groaned, open mouthed, and rut up against one cock. The other slid against his thighs, slipping between them. Sukuna’s breath hitched.
Satoru grinned, toothy.
“That for me?”
“You’re like a cat in heat,” Sukuna mocked, and two hands came to hold Satoru’s hips still.
Satoru didn’t whine, but he did hiss. “Sukuna—”
“A god shouldn’t be leashed.”
Satoru sighed, almost annoyed. “I’m not letting loose like this on the regular. You’re the only one who’d survive it, and I like my students intact.”
“For the joy of watching a flower bloom,” Sukuna murmured, and it was almost a question.
Satoru looked at him in a way no one else could.
“Do you understand?” Satoru asked.
“No,” Sukuna answered, and then, almost an order, almost a truth, “but it doesn’t matter. You’ll let loose with me.”
“Will I,” Satoru mused, close enough to bite, “you seem awfully confident about that.”
“I am,” Sukuna smirked. “I’m the only one who can keep you from bruising your precious flowers without a leash. Isn’t that right,” came like hot coals, “Satoru?”
Satoru snapped.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
They fucked on every surface of the house, including the roof and most walls. Satoru clawed Sukuna’s back to bloody shreds, Sukuna came in him like Satoru could be knocked up, and they did enough damage that the whole place was creaking. They’d been at it for fifteen hours, give or take. Satoru’s eyes were aching a little too much to be precise. No wonder he felt so thoroughly fucked open. There was cum dripping down his thighs every time he stood up. A nice decoration for the bite marks— white over bruised red.
Pretty hot, all told.
“Awake?”
“Yeah,” Satoru sighed, tilting his head back against Sukuna’s shoulder. Warmth like flames, he thought. Sukuna had a warmth like flame. Satoru felt drawn to it.
Satoru sighed. He was tired. Beneath him, Sukuna shifted. There was blood dried across a broad chest. A lot, actually, trailing down from the ink of Sukuna’s neck.
Huh. Satoru must have done that, biting a thread of marks from neck to chest. He didn’t remember it.
Well.
“Call me Satoru again.”
“I don’t take orders.”
Satoru clicked his tongue. “You don’t want me to beg, but you don’t like orders. Make up your mind.”
“Two things can be true at once,” Sukuna said, “I don’t want you to pretend to be what you aren’t, but I’m not going to bow.”
Satoru groaned, and reached to checked his phone. Many missed calls, enough texts to swim across the screen, and emails he didn’t bother checking. Nothing that couldn’t wait, from a brief glance.
Except the message from Megumi.
You alive?
Satoru smiled.
Yeah, plenty alive.
Good.
“Right,” Satoru decided, tossing his phone on the ground, “I want a bath. Come on, big guy. Carry me.”
Sukuna ignored him.
“Sukuna.”
“Satoru.”
“Ah, that makes my heart flutter a little every time. If I faint, you should catch me.”
“Insufferable brat.”
“You knew my personality was shit before you claimed me,” Satoru said, smirking. “There’s a hot spring up the far path, on the mountain. I texted Ijichi, he should bring you clothes in a few days. Guessed your size, but after you’ve been manhandling me all day, it’s probably right.”
Sukuna sighed. It was a quiet little sound. Dignified and scornful, and very well practiced, but it was more a rumble for Satoru to feel than a true complaint.
“Hold on.”
Four arms lifted him off the ground. Satoru grinned, and closed six eyes.
He didn’t open them again until he was lowered into a hot spring. Even then, he mostly let Sukuna move him, pliant under warm hands. He didn’t get to be pliant often. Maybe never. He didn’t get to close his eyes often either.
It was a relief.
That’s how he ended up pulled back onto a cock by the damn throat.
“And I thought I was the cat in heat,” Satoru groaned, leaning back against Sukuna. The other cock was slicked up and caught between his thighs.
“We can both be beasts,” Sukuna answered, and shifted back. Satoru gasped, jostled and skewered. How novel— Satoru had never been run through the ass before. Well. Before their fights, at least.
He went lax, head falling against Sukuna’s neck. The feel of skin against skin was peaceful. Easy.
“It’s the top cock again. You playing favorites?”
“You aren’t loose enough for both.”
“Surprised you’re not trying it anyway. You were going to rip me open.”
“You want it too much. It’s more fun to make you wait, so be patient, pretty thing,” Sukuna whispered, dark and hot, and wrapped a hand around Satoru’s throat. There was a gentle squeeze. A threat, from one monster to another.
Satoru sighed into it.
“You and your patience,” and then when Sukuna didn’t shift, he asked, “not going to fuck me?”
“You haven’t earned it,” Sukuna drawled, “now be a good boy and stay still.”
Satoru barked a laugh, sharp and breathless. It didn’t cover the shiver. “Fine, fine. I’ll be a good little slut and warm your cock.”
Sukuna laughed too.
“You like the praise, don’t you? It’s so obvious.”
“Why wouldn’t it be? Not like I’m trying to hide it,” Satoru replied, clenching a little. Ah, he felt so full. Sukuna was really good for that.
“No, I suppose not.”
A hand ran through his hair, tugging his head to the side. Satoru let it move him.
“So obedient,” Sukuna purred, and set his teeth on Satoru’s neck. Satoru groaned, low and throaty. “What a— how did you put it? Ah, yes. What a good little slut you are, Satoru.”
“Every time you call me that,” Satoru mused, feeling entirely wild, “I lose it.”
“I know,” Sukuna said, and bit harder. Satoru groaned, and leaned into it, settling back further against Sukuna. It was warm. The water, of course, but also Sukuna.
This was easier than clothes.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
They lingered there, in the warmth. It was easy. Peaceful. After a long while, Satoru closed his eyes, and fell asleep.
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
“Summon your innate domain,” Satoru said, later, when Sukuna had carried him back to the house. “Keep it to the courtyard, if you can get it that small.”
“If?”
“You look so offended,” Satoru laughed, vicious. “I promise, you’ll like it.”
“Very well,” Sukuna agreed, with a sigh.
Malevolent shrine painted itself into existence. It was a warm weight, settling across Satoru’s shoulders. Like every fear he’d ever had, nestling into the hollow of his collar bones. It wasn’t much. Satoru could count the number of times he’d been truly afraid on one hand.
“Well? You wanted something, didn’t you? Get on with it.”
“Patience, King of Curses.”
Satoru looked out with six eyes. He looked, and saw a world without limits.
“Domain Expansion,” he murmured, and let Unlimited Void loose. Unbounded, unchained. Free. There was a sharp breath at his side.
Painting across Sukuna’s domain was an exercise in contrasts. White over red would make pink, in any world but this one. Here it made an infinity, dipped in both colors. Satoru kept painting under an open sky.
Sukuna shifted, at his side.
“Glad it worked. Knew it would, but you know.” Satoru turned to Sukuna. He met eyes like fire. “I think Unlimited Void looks better in your domain. The two together, they—”
Sukuna was pulling him into a kiss before he could finish. Satoru didn’t mind. He closed his eyes, and let Sukuna kiss him until they were both panting, until they’d bitten and bled across each other again.
“It’s magnificent,” Sukuna said, wild. “You’re magnificent.”
“I am,” Satoru agreed, and pulled Sukuna closer. “You know, you taste good too.”
“Oh? How do I taste?”
Like freedom, was the true answer. Sukuna tasted like freedom.
Satoru smirked.
“Like me.”
⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰
“I want to fight you again,” Satoru announced. It was morning, now. Long past dawn, with the sunshine to prove it. They were in one of the kitchens— the only one that’d survived the day before. Satoru was sitting, gingerly, in a corner. He still hadn’t healed the damage.
Sukuna was cooking. Four hands made quick work of breakfast, Satoru mused. It was domestic enough to give him hives, and yet…
He didn’t mind.
“Obviously,” Sukuna said, and it was such an easy respect that Satoru wanted to engrave it in all six of his eyes.
“And then I want you to fuck me with both cocks,” Satoru continued, smirking.
Sukuna raised an eyebrow. He looked amused in that way he had, smug and curious but with a lick of flame beneath it all. “Quarters, then. Sliced first. Then ripped in half.”
“You’d fuck me if I was in pieces? Be still my heart.”
“Still your mouth, and maybe I won’t have to.”
Satoru laughed, and kept watching. Six eyes saw both Sukuna and his shadows, the swirl of energy, the tug of his gravity.
“You lied to me, back then.”
Sukuna went still, and glanced back. “I don’t remember promising you the truth.”
“You didn’t,” and then, “but you never used your flame in our first fight.”
“…I wasn’t holding back,” Sukuna said, after a quiet moment. It wasn’t cold. It wasn’t even cocky. It simply was.
“Seems like you were, from where I’m sitting.”
Sukuna didn’t reply.
Satoru sighed, annoyed. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. With you in this body, we’re going to be evenly matched.”
He didn’t know where the conviction came from. Not a red string, definitely. Enough cuts to bleed through, enough punches caught and twisted, maybe. Satoru wanted to win, just as badly as he wanted them to tie.
Sukuna paused.
“My original form has some advantages Megumi’s body lacked.”
“It has a lot of advantages.”
Sukuna snorted, then reached back and flicked Satoru’s thigh.
“Think with your head, not your cock.”
“I’m the best, I can do both.”
“Fight to win,” Sukuna said, after a moment. “You will fight to win, Satoru.”
“Of course,” Satoru said, and it was true. “So will you.”
“I will,” Sukuna promised. Satoru thought that promise had echoes.
He shifted, hissing at the ache in his ass, readjusting until he was comfortable. Sukuna kept cooking, and Satoru kept watching.
How strange.
“The barrier won’t hold for a fight,” Satoru mused.
Sukuna snorted. “It hardly held up for a fuck.”
“We did some very athletic fucking, in its defense.” Satoru grinned, toothy. The shattered remains of half a house creaked around them. They really had done a number on the place. It’d be expensive to fix. Ah, that was fine. Satoru didn’t care.
“I need to check on my students first,” Satoru decided. “The higher ups will try something if I’m gone too long.”
“Just kill them.”
“I will,” Satoru said, “but not yet. Two years. I need to give my students at least two years.”
“Mm. Uraume is outside the manor.”
Satoru groaned. “That little shrimp?”
“They’ll fetch supplies,” Sukuna continued, “if I ask. It’s likely they’ll have clothes for me.”
Satoru sighed. “They’re so annoying. It’s more annoying you had them come here. Trying to see how possessive I am, Sukuna? The answer is yes.”
“I already knew that,” Sukuna smirked, and set food down before Satoru, following the food down into a smooth seat on the ground. Satoru exercised an extreme amount of restraint, and didn’t lean forward to suck one of those cocks.
They ate.
“Satoru,” came quiet, after they were done.
Idle, Satoru hummed. “Mm?”
“Which hand has the string?”
Satoru paused, looked, unblinking, until Sukuna looked back. There was a lazy ease to him, inked across his skin and falling away into the shadows.
Satoru smiled, wry.
“If you already knew it was there… I’m surprised you can’t see it. It’s gotten brighter every death.”
“That’s for these alone,” Sukuna said, and tapped a finger to Satoru’s cheek, just below the eye. “Where is it?”
“Top right.”
“Show me.”
“Here,” Satoru murmured, and ran his fingers against it. It was a red like fire, now, darker from how close they were. It looked like a burn across Sukuna’s skin.
Sukuna followed his fingers.
“Is it strong?”
It was a thin, delicate thread. Thick against Satoru’s wrist, but dainty on Sukuna’s. Satoru traced it again, and again, and again.
“The strongest.”