#sweetmelodygraphics

His other self—fuck it, he’s calling him Itadori—tilts his head slightly toward him, without looking away from Sukuna. “Rip your finger off and feed it to Fushiguro to take over his body.”

Yuuji jolts on the spot, blood sloshing under his feet. “What?!”

“The transfer was successful.” That’s Sukuna, and he doesn’t sound angry anymore, but Yuuji knows from painful experience that the evaluative note in his voice is way, way worse. “I can sense nothing of my power in you. This is just your mewling soul, doubled. How ridiculous. One of you is enough of a waste of soul-stuff.”

The other Yuuji—Itadori—laughs.

It starts out low, just shaking shoulders and throaty noise, but it gets louder and louder, and then Itadori throws his head back and cackles like a movie villain, making the entire grotesque domain reverberate with the sound. It echoes off the giant ribcage above and trembles in the pool of blood below, but it’s Yuuji’s bone and blood that feel like they’re quivering with every howl of laughter.

Opposite him, Sukuna looks disgusted.

That’s pretty hypocritical of him. Yuuji’s heard him laugh like this. No, that was worse. Something about Itadori reminds him more of how Gojou gets sometimes, though Yuuji’s never heard his teacher let loose like this.

The laughter stops as abruptly as it started. In its wake, there’s no expression at all on Itadori’s face.

“Soul-stuff, huh?” he says. Despite his lack of expression, he sounds weirdly amused. “You have no idea.”

There’s no movement.

There must have been. No way can Yuuji’s future self just teleport, no matter how cool and also useful it’d be. He just knows that’s what happened. There was movement. He just couldn’t see it. One moment, Itadori was standing at least ten feet away from Sukuna, and the next, he was in his space, looming over a body that is identical to Yuuji’s in every way except for the inky markings and extra eyes.

Sukuna’s expression is all twisted up with anger again, but it doesn’t hide how his eyes—all four of them—have widened. He didn’t see it either. He also looks very unhappy about having to look up at a version of Yuuji.

“This is real weird. It’s one thing for my own teenage body to look like this, but you…” Itadori lifts a hand and grabs Sukuna’s chin. “You looking like me after all these years—that’s just not right.”

“Remove your hand,” Sukuna says with a blandness that promises swift and vicious retribution, “lest I remove it for you.”

He doesn’t actually wait to do the removing. Almost before he’s spoken, blood spurts in a neat circle around Itadori’s wrist. Yuuji jolts forward, a belated warning stuck in his throat, but his half-formed thought of punching Sukuna away is arrested with the rest of his body as Itadori’s severed hand stops mid-air, bouncing once like the blood connecting it to the mass of exposed bone and muscle at the end of his arm has turned elastic.

The hand is practically yanked into the bloody stump, and in the blink of an eye, the damage is gone as if it never was—no wound, not even blood. If it weren’t for the red drops splattered on Sukuna’s yukata and the tips of Itadori’s own sleeve, there’d be no evidence at all.

“Ow,” Itadori says, his voice dull and flat.

Both of Sukuna’s arms fall to the blood-drenched ground, severed at the elbows.

Yuuji didn’t even—

Sukuna doesn’t make a noise, even though the pain must be agonizing. Yuuji knows just how much it hurts to have his limbs cut off like that. Itadori didn’t make a noise either, when Sukuna sliced off his hand.

Yuuji doesn’t have any sympathy for Sukuna—that bastard deserves worse anyway—but he’s not sure what he’s feeling about his other self. He seems strong. He reminds Yuuji of Gojou.

But there’s something about him that’s just…unsettling. The way he talks, the way he holds himself.

The way his eyes were red when they were briefly turned toward Yuuji.

Sukuna’s clearly less conflicted. He’s already leaped back, putting a healthy distance between himself and Itadori. The bleeding flesh of his arms start steaming and bubbling, and then they’re back, all the way down to clawed fingertips that retreat into normal nails a second later. A rolling motion of the shoulders finds those regrown arms covered in loose sleeves again. That, Yuuji figures, has something to do with Sukuna’s image of himself. Down here, maybe even regeneration works like that. It’s not like any damage is permanent. Yuuji’s died here a few times, never for good.

But that first time, after that vow—maybe it should have been for good.

“That,” Sukuna says, his voice low and deep with a gravity that makes the air in the entire domain feel heavy, “was my technique.”

“Mine now,” Itadori replies blithely. “Don’t be so offended. It’s not like I stole yours. We’re not twin souls or anything. My power doesn’t leech off yours. ’Course, that means yours doesn’t limit mine either.” He glances over at Yuuji; his eyes are still as red as the blood under their feet. “Not sure how it’s going to affect you though. But we’re in the same body. I guess it won’t matter, sooner or later.”

Yuuji’s not sure he likes the sound of that. “That’s kinda—”

Itadori steps to the side suddenly and is obscured by an explosion of blood. “Impatient, aren’t you?”

Yuuji knows that’s not directed at him. Sukuna is still standing where he was, all four eyes narrowed at Itadori. But Yuuji knows he must have sent his technique at Itadori.

A part of Yuuji expects Itadori to retaliate exactly like he did earlier. Instead, he just folds his arms across his chest and steps back into the spot he was occupying before Sukuna tried to cut him in half.

Itadori’s feet, Yuuji realizes, aren’t sinking into the blood. Sukuna’s aren’t either, but that’s how it always is. Yuuji’s the only one ankle-deep in that disgusting mess.

Sukuna must have noticed already. The guy’s an evil asshole, but he’s smart—way smarter than Yuuji.

They’re also talking, and Yuuji tunes back in time to hear Itadori say, “—me again?”

Sukuna looks unimpressed. “What are you?”

“Him, obviously.” Itadori jerks a thumb at Yuuji as if to punctuate the point. Then he takes a single, deliberate step toward Sukuna. “I am you, too—and you are me. But I guess you wouldn’t know that yet, if you ever accepted it at all.”

Sukuna’s expression twists, a rancid mixture of disgust and disbelief and sheer rage. He thrusts an arm out, and even from where he’s standing, Yuuji can feel his power being gathered, a miasmic maelstrom that fills the air with the scent of blood and rot—

And Itadori is there, again, and this time, his hand isn’t on Sukuna’s face but his chest, all five fingers digging like they’re claws. Blood seeps into the cloth, and Yuuji’s breath hitches in his throat as he remembers the wet squelch of his heart in his own possessed fist—

But Itadori doesn’t rip Sukuna’s heart out.

It’s the flesh around his hand that starts bulging and writhing, shredding the clothes Sukuna’s wearing to expose skin that bubbles like some movie witch’s potion, and then the whole thing explodes, showing Itadori in blood and gore, and Sukuna—

Sukuna’s massive and monstrous, with four arms and a toothy maw on his stomach and four eyes arranged in a way drastically different from what Yuuji’s used to seeing on his own borrowed face.

But…his hair is still pink. The same pink as Yuuji’s hair. The same pink as his grandpa’s hair, back when it had some color in it.

Yuuji doesn’t like that.

“Much better,” Itadori declares, giving Sukuna the world’s most obvious once-over.

Sukuna looks—

You’d think it’d be difficult to read the expression on features so different from what you’re used to, but Yuuji finds that he needs no translation for the look on Sukuna’s face. It’s exactly what Yuuji himself is feeling.

Sukuna’s lips twist into a sneer. “Desperate whore.”

“Not yet,” Itadori says placidly. “But you will be.”

“The years must truly have addled your mind,” Sukuna drawls, “if you’re mistaking me for Gojou Satoru.”

Even from this distance, Yuuji can see how Itadori’s hand clamps down on Sukuna’s groin. But Sukuna just laughs like Itadori isn’t crushing his cock.

Itadori yanks, his arm sweeping to the side like a conductor’s grand gesture. For a moment, Yuuji thinks he’s ripped Sukuna’s dick off, and he can’t help wincing, even though Sukuna doesn’t deserve his sympathy. Yuuji’s gone for the crotch a time or two when fighting too, mostly when he thought the other guy really deserved it, but a punch or a kick to the dick is a lot different from—

Then it registers, the unbloodied scrap of white fabric dangling from Itadori’s fist, and suddenly, Yuuji’s not sure if he wouldn’t have preferred a severed cock.

“Hey!” he protests, except it sounds weak and wavering even to himself. And then he sees what Itadori’s newest bullshit has exposed. “Why the hell does he have two dicks? And why are they hard, you bastard?!”

“Stop blathering, boy.” All four of Sukuna’s eyes throw Yuuji a scalding glare. “You’re an eyesore through and through.”

Yuuji gapes at him for a moment. Then he turns to Itadori, finding him watching Yuuji with a faint smile.

“You want me to fuck that?” Yuuji asks him, gesturing wildly at Sukuna.

“I’m asking if you want to,” Itadori corrects. A corner of his mouth quirks sharply up. “Aren’t you tempted though? You could finally shut him up.”

“I can just break his jaw.”

“This one talks too,” Itadori says, tapping the thick lower lip of Sukuna’s belly mouth. It snaps at him, monstrous teeth clacking shut around thin air. “He’d heal anyway. And no matter how badly you hurt him, he won’t change. I guess we’re a lot alike that way.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Sukuna says flatly.

“It’s different when it’s pleasure,” Itadori continues, ignoring Sukuna again. He also stops groping him, even walking backward until he’s no longer between those splayed legs. But his hand’s quick to return to Sukuna, clasping an ankle. “And you’re all about pleasure, aren’t you, Sukuna?”

“Bold of you to think you can please me,” Sukuna says, his tone and his expression all imperious in a way that clashes terribly with the state he’s in. “You might be willing to fuck anything with a pulse, but I have far more discerning tastes.”

Itadori hums thoughtfully. “A pulse isn’t strictly necessary. Technically, we don’t have one down here. These bodies are just simulacra—our souls copying the shapes we know.”

“That is so not the point,” Yuuji mutters, dragging a hand over his face.

Whatever Sukuna might have replied with is lost to the sudden violent movement of the ropes of blood binding his legs. Yuuji startles a little as they squirm and shift and tighten, crushing the loose hakama between their coils to emphasize the sheer thickness of the legs underneath. Then a bunch of smaller tendrils shoot up from the apparently endless pool of blood below, their tips weirdly sharp—like spearpoints.

They pierce the fabric and slide inside, the coils wrapped over the hakama loosening to let the new invaders move freely, and even knowing what’s coming, Yuuji still gasps as Sukuna’s pants are shredded from the inside.

The scraps fall to the ground, soaking up the blood and sinking right in. Or maybe they’re just vanishing. Yuuji can’t quite tell. He spends an extra second half-heartedly trying to figure it out, just so he can avoid looking up.

“Stop fighting,” Itadori says, sounding half amused and half chiding. “We both know you’re not going anywhere.”

“I’ll peel off your skin and feed it to you charred.”

“You won’t even cook it properly? Wow, it’s almost like you hate me.”

“Hatred,” Sukuna says tightly, “doesn’t capture a fraction of my loathing for you.”

“That’s fine.” Itadori’s voice is very soft. Almost tender. Yuuji continues staring blankly at the blood below. “I decided a very long time ago that I’d chew up every single curse in your belly.”

Sukuna makes a noise then, thick and dark with fury and other writhing things, and Yuuji finally looks up, freezing when he realizes that he’s somehow a lot closer to the other two now, even though he has no memory of taking those steps.

Itadori is standing beside Sukuna’s hip now, with his right hand resting idly on the space right under the mouth on Sukuna’s stomach. Yuuji tries not to look, but his eyes still slip to the two thick cocks jutting out side by side near that hand. They’re still obscenely hard, and the whole visual is even more lewd now because Sukuna’s legs are naked and also all bent, the calves pressed flush to the underside of his thighs, a dozen thick tendrils of fresh red blood binding them tightly together. They’re spread so wide too, and Yuuji doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed that he can’t see between them from where he’s standing.

Sukuna makes another noise, mostly a growl, and Yuuji drags his eyes to less guilty lands, except that also backfires when he sees Itadori dig his fingers into Sukuna’s underbelly like he plans to tear those curses out of his stomach by the fistful, and the violence of it wouldn’t have bothered Yuuji, not when Sukuna’s the victim, but there’s something about the taut curve of Itadori’s knuckles that makes him think of naked bodies and clasped hands, and the heat it pours into his veins is festering with filth.

I’m not gonna get hard about this, Yuuji tells himself. I refuse.

His cock throbs like it couldn’t give less of a shit what he wants or doesn’t want.

At least the other two aren’t in any danger of noticing. Itadori’s stopped trying to claw into Sukuna’s stomach and is sliding that hand upward, right over the massive mouth that tries and fails to take a chunk out of that hand, again, and along the impossibly broad chest above it. It drifts to the side, with an ease that’d have looked casual if anything about this was normal or even sane. As it is, Yuuji just feels a dull set of resignation as that hand closes around a narrow slab of muscle that Yuuji first thought was part of Sukuna’s abs but is now being forced to realize is a second, smaller pair of tits. There are nipples and everything.

And Itadori’s merrily squeezing it.

Sukuna’s watching his hand like he’s imagining it flayed open and probably fried or something. The expression doesn’t change even when Itadori’s hand graduates to the larger, more familiar-looking pec above it.

Still, Yuuji doesn’t trust that expression either. Sukuna’s cocks are still hard.

Itadori’s hand moves again, ghosting over the curve of a collarbone and sliding more firmly up the side of that thick throat. It settles on the side of Sukuna’s face, cupping it and tilting it toward Itadori.

Sukuna bares both sets of teeth.

Itadori bends down to kiss him on the mouth.

Maybe, if Yuuji tries really hard, he can swim back up to his body and leave these two to fuck in his soul. It can’t dirty the thing more than Sukuna already has.

Not that Yuuji’s any less guilty.

He doesn’t actually try to leave. Something keeps him rooted to the spot, keeps his eyes fixed on the mouths slotted together only a few feet in front of him, and he doesn’t look away even as blood starts to sluice down Sukuna’s jaw.

Itadori rises from the kiss with blood smeared all over his chin, and below, Sukuna’s teeth are still bared, now with blood bubbling between them as he hisses something incomprehensible at Itadori, and Yuuji’s so sure that Itadori lost a lip or maybe a tongue to that bastard’s mouth, but then he looks, really looks, at Itadori’s face and—

There’s a tongue clutched between his teeth, wet and red and twitching.

Itadori tilts his head back and opens his mouth, and the tongue vanishes down his maw. His throat swells as it swallows.

Yuuji’s stomach churns, heat and bile mixing together into an unholy mess.

“Ah.” Itadori really looks at him then; his eyes are no less red, no less bright. “Then you’re worried I’ll hurt him.”

“That’s not it either,” Yuuji says firmly. “This is my soul too. I don’t trust you two with it.”

“That’s fair,” Itadori allows, “but you’ll have to leave eventually.”

“I know that.” Yuuji’s both dreading and desperately looking forward to it. “And I will. But not yet.”

Itadori nods, turning back to Sukuna’s strung-up body. “I guess we do owe you a show.”

“That’s not what I said!”

Itadori doesn’t even bother acknowledging that, once again fully focused on molesting Sukuna with his eyes. Yuuji doesn’t really get it. He’s been doing hands-on groping this whole time, and now he’s just standing there eye-fucking Sukuna like the bastard will melt away or something if he reaches out to touch.

But Yuuji can admit there’s a lot to look at. Sukuna’s been moved again, the bloody tendrils he’s wrapped up in rearranging him at what must be Itadori’s whim. His whole body’s parallel to the blood-drenched ground again, and his legs have been stretched out to match the splay of his arms. It leaves every hard plane and bulging muscle of his body on obscene display.

Put like that, it’s pretty obvious why Itadori’s taking his sweet time with this.

Sukuna doesn’t exactly seem happy about it, but he’s not bitching at them either. Or attacking them all with those slashes. Yuuji doubts it’s because Sukuna knows it won’t work—that didn’t stop him the last couple of times. Plus, he hasn’t really complained for a while now.

Since we ate his heart, a corner of his mind corrects mercilessly.

The proof of that whole nasty affair is also almost gone. The hole over Sukuna’s heart has healed, and while there’s blood smeared all over his mouth and chest, it just blends in with the blood all over his domain and on their bodies. What gives it away is the look on his face—the hot satisfaction still lingering in the low sweep of his lashes and the lazy curl of his mouth.

“Are you just going to stand there and stare at him?” Yuuji asks, since Sukuna sure isn’t going to. “It’s been, like, ten minutes.”

“Has it?” Itadori asks, with a dull sort of surprise. “I can’t tell time very well these days.”

“Well, it’s not like I’ve been timing it,” Yuuji mutters. “But I’m pretty sure it’s been a while. So cut it out. Do something.”

“You do want that show then.”

Yuuji opens his mouth in automatic protest—and closes it. He did walk into that.

At least Itadori’s finally moving, even if it’s just to step into the cradle of Sukuna’s legs instead of just staring into the space between them like a special-grade creep. Not that he’s less creepy about it now. Both of his hands drag along Sukuna’s legs from ankles to thighs. The coils of blood in their path seem to tremble when he touches them, but the bindings don’t loosen at all. It’s the stretches of skin in between that Itadori focuses on, squeezing or stroking or just rubbing his fingers against each one, and even though Yuuji saw him do exactly this to Sukuna’s arms earlier, the sight isn’t any less unsettling.

Finally, Itadori’s hands come to a rest on Sukuna’s hips—and Yuuji is reminded uncomfortably of the fact that he must have looked exactly the same a few minutes ago.

His naked lower half feels like an accusation whenever he focuses on it. He’d only shoved his pants and boxers down to his ankles before fucking Sukuna, but when he finished, he found that they were just…gone. Like the blood had turned into acid and dissolved them or something. And he’s seen Sukuna just wish clothes into being—or at least that same old-fashioned get-up he always wears—but Yuuji has no idea how to do that. He’s still not sure how he’s managing to stand on the blood instead of sinking into it. Thinking about his pants sure hasn’t made them magically appear.

And he’s not going to ask Itadori, at least not while he’s in the middle of yet another one of his Sukuna harassment routines.

“Does it hurt?” Itadori asks suddenly, and Yuuji refocuses on the others to find that Itadori’s hands have migrated to Sukuna’s ass, gripping thick handfuls that Yuuji isn’t far enough away to not see. “Or have you gone and healed it already?”

Sukuna snorts, the sound and his expression radiating disdain. “As if I’d spare any thought for such inconsequential pain.”

“Hm,” says Itadori—and one of his hands vanish from Sukuna’s ass.

Yuuji knows, from the angle and Sukuna’s sudden snarl, exactly what Itadori’s done with it.

Sure enough, a moment later, Itadori’s holding up a couple of bloodstained fingers in front of his face. He rubs his thumb over them, smearing the red. Something squirms in Yuuji’s stomach, and he can’t quite tell whether it’s discomfort or something worse.

Itadori asks, “Want me to kiss it better?”

Sukuna’s glare doubles in intensity. “Keep your filthy mouth to yourself.”

“Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” Itadori says mildly. “Come to think of it, has anyone eaten you out? I can’t quite see anyone offering. King of Curses isn’t a very inviting title, is it? Bet that mouth on your belly would give them all sorts of other ideas anyway. Maybe that little monk you liked so much—”

“Enough,” Sukuna snaps. “You know nothing.”

“No,” Itadori agrees, “but I can guess a thing or two. And I’d wager I’m about to blow your mind.”

Sukuna lets out a short burst of laughter that drips with derision. “You overestimate yourself, as always. Do you truly believe you and your perversions are any different from those in my time? Human nature is constant. Only the lies you tell yourselves vary, and even they’re so dreadfully dull.”

“You always did take a dim view of humanity,” Itadori murmurs, his eyes growing distant. He’s smiling too, small and strangely wistful. “A narrow one too. Tell me then—how am I lying to myself?”

Sukuna’s eyes all flicker down, as if he’s taking in the length of his own bound, suspended body. “The audacity to believe you’ve earned the right to put your mouth on me is a graver sin than any mere lie.”

“Now who’s lying?” Itadori leans forward, crossing his arms on Sukuna’s underbelly—the oversized mouth right above it snaps furiously, catching only air. “I have earned it, Sukuna.”

“Presumptuous fool,” Sukuna growls.

“Might makes right—that’s your philosophy.” Itadori lifts a foot, tucking it over the heel of his shoe, and more of his weight seems to bear down on Sukuna, whose body doesn’t even waver in the air. “You’re helpless right now, completely at my mercy. Doesn’t that give me the right to do whatever I want to you?”

“It’s not ours,” Yuuji says, his throat tight around the words, and six separate eyes snap to him, all of them burning red. He chokes down whatever the fuck he’s feeling and says, more loudly, “That’s his philosophy. Not ours.”

“Not yours,” Itadori agrees softly. The distinction isn’t lost on Yuuji, and it’s no surprise, not after everything he’s seen Itadori do, and it’s hypocritical too, given what Yuuji’s done too, but— “Not mine either, if it helps. Well, not always. It’s complicated.”

Yuuji breathes out roughly through his nose; he doesn’t know what to feel about that either.

“Just…do whatever you’re going to do,” he says in the end, making more eye contact with Sukuna despite his better judgement. The cold fury there makes infinitely more sense to Yuuji than the perverse satisfaction earlier. “It’s creepier when you try to justify it.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” Itadori asks, now sounding way too amused. “Man, I must be really bad at flirting now. In my defense, it’s been a while.”

Yuuji gapes at him, and in his periphery, he can see Sukuna’s features distort with the same outrage he’s choking on.