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I waited a thousand years for you (and I'd wait a thousand more)

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At the same time that the world breathes Ryomen Sukuna into existence, it breathes his soulmate, Fushiguro Megumi, into existence as well.

And because the universe makes no mistakes, Fushiguro Megumi, the soulmate of Ryomen Sukuna, is born a thousand years later.


His mark appears on his wrist when he’s ten, and Megumi stares down at it, long enough that Gojo finally takes notice, peering over his shoulder with no regard for his personal space. 

“That’s right, it’s your birthday today, right Megumi?” the older man says with a smile. “Are you going to show me who your soulmate is?”

Megumi scowls, covering his wrist. Gojo would just make fun of him, teasing him in that annoying voice with a smile. Besides, Megumi doesn’t even fully believe what’s printed on his skin. 

The last person he wants to show it to is Gojo. 

“Leave me alone,” Megumi says bitterly. 

He doesn’t want to know how Gojo is going to react to the name stamped into his skin like a brand. 

Ryomen Sukuna

Gojo’s smile—he’s always smiling, Megumi can’t remember seeing him frown before—grows wider, and before he can move, the older man has his wrist in a tight grip, looking at the printed words on his flesh. 

Almost like a birthmark. If Megumi hadn’t been waiting for it, he wouldn’t have noticed it. He wishes he hadn’t. 

Gojo wears long sleeves, always the long sleeves and sunglasses over his eyes. Megumi has never seen the name of the older man’s soulmate. All he knew is that it wasn’t his own name, because while Gojo never said who it was, he would tell people they weren’t it. 

Gojo lets out a low whistle, dropping Megumi’s arm. Megumi winces, pulling his arm against his chest, and scowls at the ground. 

“That’s interesting.”

That just made Megumi feel so much worse. 

He’s heard the stories, the legend of Ryomen Sukuna. The man who had become a cursed spirit and tried to take the world apart for his own pleasure. If his fingers didn’t still exist, spreading around and causing havoc, it would be a bedtime story told late at night. 

Something akin to dread, but not quite, curls up in Megumi’s stomach. 

“Well,” Gojo says, clapping his hands together, “that changes things, doesn’t it? I didn’t think a cursed spirit could have a soulmate.”

Megumi wants to curl up on Tsumiki’s arms and tell her about this. She always knew what to say. 

“Hey, why don’t we get some ice cream?” Gojo says suddenly, clapping his hands together loudly enough to make Megumi jump. “My treat.”

Megumi finds himself nodding, still trying his best to scowl and glare at the ground. His wrist felt hot, like everyone was staring at it, and suddenly Megumi—

Megumi understands why Gojo wears long sleeves.


He doesn’t think too much about it. Not until he’s thirteen and Gojo allows him to see Sukuna’s finger for the first time. 

It’s a rotting, gross thing. Gojo explains jujutsu and how they can’t destroy them— destroy his soulmate —and how they can only keep them sealed, and Megumi doesn’t feel any connection between the name on his wrist and the finger Gojo’s holding in his hand. 

Gojo holds out the finger. “Do you want to touch it?”

Megumi’s stomach rolls, threatening to send his lunch onto the floor. He shakes his head, lips pursing in disgust. Cursed energy pours off of the finger, oppressive and suffocating. 

“Strange to think he’s your soulmate, huh?” Gojo says, storing the finger away, Megumi finally feels like he can breathe. 

“Try not to think about it too much.”

Megumi doesn’t have to try hard to do that. Sukuna is a dead body, kept in a crypt with cursed energy so strong that they couldn’t even touch the grave wax. The only time Megumi thought about the name written on the inside of his wrist is when Gojo finds another finger to the school’s growing collection. 

His soulmate had been dead for a thousand years, after all, Megumi didn’t need to think about such things like that. The pieces of Sukuna would eventually be destroyed, and Megumi would be one of the few that didn’t have a soulmate. 

He tugs his sleeve down a little bit further anyways.


He meets others who have met their soulmates, those who haven’t yet, and surprisingly finds a bit of solace in Panda, who understands the want and desire of something so human, while being a cursed corpse. 

Megumi thinks about Gojo more than he should, his mentor, the strongest sorcerer. He thinks about how much the other could accomplish, and who his soulmate could possibly be. It can’t be a cursed spirit, like Megumi has. 

It’s years and Megumi never bothers to learn the name of Gojo’s soulmate, not that he ever could have found out. Gojo hides it well.

Megumi thinks he understands later, when being the strongest sorcerer comes at more of a price. There’s an air about Gojo, keeping others at an arm's length away, not to prevent him from being hurt, but to make sure that he isn’t hurting anyone else. 

He wonders if Gojo is one of the few who don’t get a soulmate, but that would have been easy. Megumi is fifteen when he thinks for the first time, that the reason Gojo never looks for his soulmate is because it’s a weakness, one that Gojo can’t afford to have. 

There are too many cursed spirits who would hunt down the soulmate of the strongest jujutsu sorcerer and end their life on a whim.

While Megumi’s soulmate is dead, and has been for a thousand years, Megumi wonders if he would have been a weakness for the man turned into a cursed spirit, or if he would have been dead before he had a chance to grow, a strand of thread pulled out before it could even truly become a weakness in the fabric of Sukuna’s life.


When Tsumiki’s cursed, Megumi decides he doesn’t need a soulmate anyways. 

He doesn’t need anything to do with curses. He doesn’t need any connections to things so vile and repulsive. He doesn’t need Gojo or Nanami or Shoko. 

Megumi doesn’t need anyone.

He doesn’t need a cursed spirit who’s only around in severed fingers, who can’t be anything to him anyway.

He understands that he doesn’t need anyone in his life. Gojo is there but he’s not really, a mentor at best and an annoyance at worst.


He meets his soulmate at almost the same time he meets Itadori Yuuji. Megumi stares, wide eyed, face bleeding and pretty sure a few of his ribs are cracked, and his soulmate stares through him. 

Gojo takes care of it, as Gojo does, bright and smiling like nothing matters in the world. Gojo incapacitates Sukuna with ease, and Megumi doesn’t even get a chance to speak to his soulmate. 

Those red eyes stared through him though, in that brief moment when Sukuna was out, alive, and suddenly the piece that Megumi plays in life becomes so much bigger, becomes threatening, and Megumi isn’t sure what he’s meant to do. 

“I want him to live,” Megumi says with conviction, with force behind it, so Gojo will believe it, and Gojo does.

He finishes building the wall around his heart and resolves that it doesn’t make a difference that Sukuna is back. Sukuna is a cursed spirit who wouldn’t care for Megumi either way, who would see him like Gojo sees his own soulmate, as a weakness and something to be avoided. 

It’s Itadori Yuuji that he’s defending, not Sukuna, only Itadori Yuuji who has conviction and heart and a will to live and help others, everything that Sukuna doesn’t have. That’s who he’s defending, not his soulmate who would hardly glance at him. 

Only that, and nothing that Gojo is smiling silently to himself about.


“I can’t get rid of it,” Shoko Ieiri says with a sigh, looking down at Megumi’s wrist. 

Her eyes are filled with apathy, and she’s the fourth person to know that Ryomen Sukuna is Megumi Fushiguro’s soulmate, besides Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, and Fushiguro Tsumiki. 

Itadori Yuuji is dead, the first and only of Sukuna’s vessels in a thousand years. There are still eighteen fingers out there though, and he wonders if that’s the reason why his mark hasn’t faded into white scar tissue like the others who had their soulmates pass on. 

“Soulmate marks are a special kind of magic. Some old jujutsu sorcerers equate it to a special kind of cursed energy.”

That doesn’t sound right, but when his real only experiences with soulmates has been knowing he’s promised to a thousand year old curse, and Gojo who pretends he doesn’t have a soulmate, he can’t contradict her. 

Shoko Ieiri inhales deeply on the cigarette she’s holding. Spring has started to turn into summer, and sweat glistens on her forehead from the humid heat. “Think about it. A soulmate is a source of good emotion, but some fucked up ones at the same time, yeah?”

Megumi nods his head. He thinks about Okkotsu Yuuta who had told him one late night about his soulmate Rika. Rika who was also the curse that floated around him and tried to murder anyone who bullied her soulmate. Rika, who even as a curse, loved and had done something so unusual because curses shouldn’t love. 

Love is the most twisted curse of them all.

Shoko Ieiri takes another slow drag of her cigarette. “You’re stuck with Sukuna, it seems.”

At least she doesn’t tell him to ignore it, or do nothing about it, or to try to bond with Sukuna. It’s kind of hard to bond with a dead finger and the body of his dead friend. 

Megumi rubs his wrist tightly and hopes—not for the first time—that it’ll erase the name printed on his wrist.


There’s a thought, a flicker in the back of his head, when he sees Sukuna again. 

He’s thrown through buildings and signs, and Nue is almost dead, barely hanging on by a thread, and that’s a part of him, that’s about to die. Orochi had already been torn apart, and Megumi felt that in his soul, a sharp pain that ate away inside of him. 

When it’s made of his shadows, it’s made from him, and it’s him that his soulmate has destroyed, and ruined. 

There’s the thought, the flicker of Sukuna’s eyes though, as Megumi raises himself up and pushes out cursed energy so intensely that it hurts, and Megumi realizes that his sleeve has dipped down a bit, and Sukuna’s name is just out there—

For the whole world to see. 

The cursed spirit's lips spread across his face in more of a grimace than a smile, bared teeth more of a challenge than anything else, and Megumi lets his cursed energy roll to a stop. 

“I saved you because I thought you might be worth saving,” Megumi says, and he’s talking to Itadori , not to anyone else, he’s talking to Itadori alone. 

“Don’t prove me wrong so early.”

Yuuji drops dead at his feet and already his soulmate is gone before he has a chance to even think about—

To think about how he’s killed his soulmate who never truly lived.


He sits on the roof of the Jujutsu school, knees pressed against his chest, his divine dog pressed against his side, offering a share of body heat and a bit of contact that Megumi is desperate for.

His fingers cling tightly to the black fur, a tightness to his throat that he’s desperate to ignore. If he ignores it, it’ll go away, won’t it? If he sits and refuses to move for a few hours, until his muscles cramp from not moving, he can ignore the pain in his heart and soul, won’t he?

A muffled sob bubbles in his chest, and his divine dog whines softly, pressing slightly closer. 

Bricks and bricks upon his heart, crushing and oppressive and safe, and he has let himself think that Itadori Yuuji would stick around as a friend, and that his soulmate was finally someone who would at least be around. 

Megumi’s been left again, by two different people this time, and that’s twice the pain. Twice the heartbreak and wondering when the pain will pass. 

There’s a sound behind Megumi, but he doesn’t turn his head, because only one person ever knows that he comes to the roof, and it’s the last person he wants to see. 

Gojo doesn’t leave, instead he walks forward until he sits besides Megumi, long legs extended out in front of him. The divine dog looks over and lets out a low growl. Megumi only tightens his fingers in the black fur until his knuckles turn white. 

“It’s not your fault, Megumi,” Gojo says after a moment. Megumi nearly flinches but manages to hold himself in place, at the cost of a few tears falling down his cheek. 

“This will pass,” Gojo says, and a large warm hand places itself on Megumi’s shoulder and he has to fight himself to not lean into the first touch he’s felt in weeks.

Maybe months. Megumi can’t remember how long it’s been. 

“People like us, we’re strong, but we’re meant to walk alone. A cursed spirit can’t be your soulmate, and I can’t have a soulmate, it’s a weakness. And we’re stronger than that, aren’t we, Megumi?”

Megumi doesn’t want to be strong all of the time. Why did it feel like too much to ask for someone to be there, to carry his weaknesses and allow him to do the same for them? Someone who wouldn’t leave him like everyone else did?

Gojo tugs gently on his shoulder, and Megumi allows himself to rest against the only father figure that’s been in his life, ever constant even as an annoyance. 

The divine dog whines softly, pressing against both of them, a pair who in a moment found solace in each other, sharing a strange bond that few people in the world could understand.


Itadori Yuuji lives, and by that right, so does Ryomen Sukuna. 

Two souls, sharing a body. Itadori Yuuji, and a parasite with no body of his own, Ryomen Sukuna. 

Itadori squirms underneath his gaze, awkward, upset, and Megumi thinks something must have happened in the two months that he was gone, because Itadori never acted like that before. He was still hopefully positive with boundless energy, but it’s calmer at the same time. 

Itadori flinches when he meets Megumi’s gaze, and crosses his arms over his chest. With a sigh, Megumi decides to get it over with. 

“What’s wrong?” Megumi asks, already knowing the answer. It sits deep in his stomach like a black pit. 

Ieiri doesn’t look at him the same way, since finding out, and Gojo hardly ever looked at him as a person once he found out. Megumi was something that could be used as leverage against Sukuna, but that all depends on whether or not Sukuna would even care.

Megumi suspects that Sukuna will be like Gojo, and ignore the fact he has a soulmate because soulmates are a weakness to powerful beings like them. 

He ignores the ache in his stomach at that thought.

Itadori rubs at his temple, and suddenly presses a hand against his cheek. “It’s nothing, dude, don’t worry.”

Megumi waits, because his life has always been about waiting, waiting for himself to perfect his technique, waiting for Gojo to see how he had potential outside of being Sukuna’s soulmate, waiting for Tsumiki to wake up. 

After a moment, Itadori gives him what he wants, and sighs heavily, his face pinching. “Sukuna’s being annoying. He won’t stop talking.”

Megumi blinks, trying to process the fact that Itadori can just hear Sukuna’s voice, and the fact that Itadori still doesn’t seem to know.

“What does he want?” Megumi asks, because Itadori has  always been honest and truthful and up front about what he’s desired, Sukuna is probably the same.

Itadori’s mouth sets in a firm grimace, his eyes fading, flickering to a crimson that almost makes Megumi take a step back. Itadori smacks a hand against his face, over his cheek again, forcing his face to relax. 

“You don’t want to know,” Itadori says, and Megumi believes him. 

Megumi nods his head slowly, tongue poking out to wet his lips, and releases Itadori’s shoulder, taking a slow step back. “Do you and Sukuna talk often?”

“Not really,” Itadori says, relaxing slightly as it seems Sukuna calms down for the moment. “He mainly yells about how I should let him out and that he’s going to kill Gojo-senpai when he’s free.”

A small laugh left Megumi’s lips. That was a fight he wouldn’t want to be around again, two powerful forces hell bent on winning at whatever the cost. Megumi clears his throat, still keeping his expression placid and blank when Itadori looks at him again. 

“He says he wants to talk to you,” Itadori says, testing the waters quietly, dipping his toe before throwing the rest of his body in. 

Megumi can’t say he’s surprised, and yet somehow he is, a shiver of anticipation running down his spine. He half expects to see Sukuna’s eye peek out from Itadori’s cheek, but besides a dimple, there’s nothing there. 

“You don’t have to!” Itadori corrects when Megumi doesn’t say anything after what felt like minutes of silence. “It’s just—you’re the only one he’s asked for by name.”

Megumi blinks again, suddenly marveling at the fact that Sukuna remembered his name, but he could understand why. Megumi presses a hand against his wrist, making sure his sleeve still covers the mark.

Itadori looks like he’d rather be anywhere else but talking to Megumi, and a spark of pity lights itself in Megumi’s stomach. He can’t imagine what it would be like to have a demon in his head, screaming at him to be free and let out of control. 

“I wouldn’t mind…” Megumi says slowly, surprising even himself with the words leaving his lips. “I wouldn’t mind talking to him.”

Itadori lights up like the sun and the trepidation, the low anxiety that pools into Megumi’s stomach so easily at the thought of Sukuna, eases a bit. 

“Thanks, Fushiguro!”

Itadori leaves after making a few hasty promises to let Megumi know when they’d be able to talk, and it’s only when he’s alone that Megumi rubs at his wrist, anxious and uncertain of his decisions.


Megumi sits on the roof, Nue next to him, fingers idly playing with the feathers as the bird curls up closer under the protection of its master. There are no cursed spirits near for Nue to sink its claws into and attack, so instead the sharp claws dig into the wood of the roof, leaving deep gashes that would have torn flesh from bone easily. 

A book is open in his lap, a biography of Alexander the Great. Megumi flips a page and ignores the chill of night as he reads of a man who hoped to conquer the world and nearly succeeded, but had never finished what he wanted the most. 

He had never seen the ocean, never saw the waves crash against the shore and heard the roar of a being that wasn’t really alive, but could kill you as easily as if it was. 

“What are you reading?”

Megumi yelped, Nue’s wings batting against his side as it flared up in defense. His book flew off his lap, tumbling into the darkness below. A small noise of loss leaves his lips, he was almost done with it.

Sukuna doesn’t move back like a normal person would. He stands there, bare chested and missing Itadori’s shirt, and looks down at the large bird as though it was nothing more than an annoying fly. Megumi reaches out to soothe his shikigami before he dismisses it. Nue’s sensitive to cursed spirits, and there would be no peace until Sukuna left. 

“I’m reading—well I was reading about Alexander the Great.” Megumi sighs as he stands up. “Itadori said you wanted to talk to me.”

Megumi takes a step forward, not wanting to be sitting on the edge of the roof with a power hungry cursed spirit who has killed thousands indiscriminately. Sukuna watches him, all four of his red eyes glued to Megumi’s form, it makes him want to curl in a bit on the inside, his stomach twisting. 

“Show me,” Sukuna doesn’t request, but orders.

He doesn’t allow himself to flinch. Megumi sets his jaw, but before he can move or say anything, Sukuna reaches out, grasping his left wrist and yanking him forward so quickly that Megumi nearly loses his balance. 

His hand lands on Sukuna’s shoulder to keep himself upright, and the hand around his wrist isn’t painful but it’s confining. Megumi would sooner break his wrist before Sukuna allowed him to take it away. 

The cursed spirit hums as he pushes the fabric of his sleeve up, until the inky black words are revealed under the soft moonlight. Megumi holds his breath, keeping his body perfectly still as Sukuna runs a sharp, black nail over the words. 

“Itadori-”

“The brat doesn’t matter right now,” Sukuna cuts him off with a scoff. “He doesn’t need to know what doesn’t concern him.”

Megumi nods slowly, eyes flickering to Sukuna’s own left wrist, but the flesh there is bare, not even Itadori’s own mark present. 

“Who knows about this?” Sukuna says suddenly, releasing Megumi so suddenly that he threatens to stumble again, but he rights himself, standing on his own, rubbing his wrist to ease the feeling of Sukuna holding him. 

Megumi thinks of his sister, who’s fallen into a coma and might never wake up, and Gojo who only knew because he happened to be there on his birthday—something Megumi thinks might not be coincidence—and he thinks of Shoko Ieiri who had told him that there was no hope for removing the name of his soulmate. 

“Gojo,” Megumi answers after a moment, when Sukuna’s eyes sharpen and there’s the sudden knowledge that he’s lucky to have lived this far, “Nanami, Shoko Ieiri, and my sister.”

A sour look passes over Sukuna’s features at the mention of Gojo’s name, but otherwise he doesn’t react. There’s a tension in his shoulders that Megumi doesn’t know what to do about, and he wonders if they’ll find his body in the morning, bleeding out on the roof of the school.

“I allowed you to live for now, Fushiguro Megumi,” Sukuna says after a long moment, releasing Megumi’s wrist. Megumi holds his breath. “Make no mistake that I can change my mind at any time.”

A hand grasps Megumi’s chin, forcing his gaze to meet Sukuna’s four eyes, harsh and cold like that of rubies. Megumi stops breathing. 

“It’s a shame,” Sukuna breaths, and he’s suddenly so close, his chest nearly pressing against Megumi’s own. “If you had been born back in the golden age, you would have been given to me as an offering, laid out bare at my feet, and I would have slaughtered you as the sacrifice you were.”

The hand on his chin moves to his throat, one black nail pressing against his pulse point. Megumi steadies his breathing in his chest.

“And what would you do with me now?” Megumi asks. Sukuna’s nail digs a bit deeper into his skin, but doesn’t draw blood. 

“I should end your pitiful existence now, Fushiguro Megumi.”

Sukuna’s other hand places itself over his heart, and Megumi could see it suddenly, the cursed spirit tearing into his chest and ripping out his heart the same way he did with Itadori, only this time there would be no return for Megumi. 

“I should tear you to pieces before anyone can think of getting their hands on you.”

The hand on his chest dug pointed fingernails into the fabric of his school uniform, and Megumi had never before felt like his life was in someone else’s hands, but Sukuna held his life in his hands, ready to tear it apart all to suit his whims. 

Megumi met his gaze evenly, evening his breath, waiting for his answer. 

All four of Sukuna’s eyes blinked at once, before the curse let out a low laugh, finally releasing Megumi from his grasp. Megumi stayed still, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants to hide their shaking. 

“A thousand years ago, people offered me everything they had to be in my presence, what will you give for the answer to your question?”

Megumi considers the question, considers summoning his shikigami to make a quick escape and get Gojo so he wouldn’t ever have to deal with anything again. Instead, Megumi offers a delicate rise and fall of his shoulders, and steps closer to the edge of the roof. 

“No thanks,” Megumi says.

He reaches the edge and Sukuna watches him with curious ruby eyes but Megumi doesn’t have anything else to say. The conversation and day had exhausted him, and Megumi wants for nothing more than to lay in a warm bed and fall asleep. 

He slips down the side of the building and to his window, and summons his divine dogs to keep watch at the door. Megumi face plants face first into the bed and ignores the racing of his heart and the mark on his wrist that itches.


Megumi’s newest book is The Epic of Gilgamesh, he’s not normally one for nonfiction, but it’s one of the oldest pieces of literature, and if Gilgamesh reminds him of anyone he knows in real life, then that’s for him and him alone to think of. 

Itadori sits next to him, fidgeting every so often as they watch a movie together, and Megumi glances at him out of the corner of his eye. He looks upset, like a puppy that had been scolded without knowing what it did wrong. 

Itadori turns to him suddenly, a pout on his lips, and Megumi almost laughs, but instead raises an inquisitive brow. “Did something happen, Itadori?”

“Yes!” Itadori bursts, obviously looking for a reason to talk. All at once from the explosive reaction, he settles back, arms crossed. 

Megumi marks his page in the Epic, setting it aside. 

“Gojo-senpai is going away for a week,” Itadori eventually says, arms crossed over his chest and the pout ever present. 

Megumi doesn’t really understand. Gojo going away was more of a blessing, with how annoying the other could be. He waits patiently though. 

“What if something happens? What if I lose control of Sukuna?” Itadori presses a hand against his cheek, as though he’s trying to repress Sukuna before the cursed spirit even appears. 

Megumi lets out a little snort. “If you’re so worried, why don’t you ask to go with him?”

Itadori blinks, and Megumi waits, waits for the penny to drop, but when Itadori’s shoulders slump, Megumi realizes that the other has already tried. 

“He says I can’t this time, it’s too dangerous.” Itadori pauses, tilting his head. “Besides, Sukuna would probably kill me.”

Megumi opens his book instead of asking why, though the curiosity burns at him. “We can have a movie night tonight, if you want.”

Itadori jumps up, already discussing the movie he just knew Megumi would love, and runs off, shouting that he would be back for their movie after he sees Gojo off for his mission. 

Megumi reads of Gilgamesh and Enkidu beheading the demon Humbaba, and pauses, wondering if Gojo had ever let someone see him off on a mission before.


Itadori isn’t the same when Gojo leaves. There’s an exhaustion, anxiousness to him that had never been there before. Megumi observes him out of the corner of his eye as Itadori fidgets through each of his classes except for literature, where suddenly he seems to be able to pay more attention. 

When he asks about it after class, as they head to their training under Nanami because Gojo will be gone for almost a week this time, Itadori gives him a sheepish look and rubs the back of his head. 

“It’s Sukuna,” he explains. “It’s the only class he’s quiet in.”

Megumi doesn’t know what to make of that. In class, Yaga had been going over the most recent book they had read, one from Ireland with a man with a cursed beauty mark on his face, who’s name Megumi still couldn’t pronounce properly, a story of betrayal and heartbreak. 

It’s a silly thing to think of, that Sukuna would be interested in stories, but Megumi files the information away all the same, the first thing that he’s learned of his soulmate that isn’t bloodshed and carnage.


Megumi sweats through his training, trying to land a hit on Itadori hard enough to bruise. Itadori is pounds of solid muscle though, and he went up against Toudou and held his own, Megumi isn’t confident he can land a hit hard enough on his best friend to leave a mark. 

He swings his left foot around, catching himself on his hands as Itadori swings back to avoid the blow, when Megumi sees it. Itadori’s sleeve pulls back just enough to reveal the mark on his skin, a flash of words that’s gone too quickly for him to read.

It throws Megumi’s mind enough for Itadori to right himself, landing a kick to his knee that sends  Megumi sprawling to the ground. The bone isn’t broken, Itadori pulls his strength enough not to shatter bone, but it’ll bruise and hurt to walk for the next few days. 

“Shit, sorry Fushiguro,” Itadori says through a few pants, offering his hand to help him up. 

Megumi winces when he stands, testing out his weight against the joint. It aches, a sharp pain traveling up his thigh, but he grits his teeth through the pain. “It’s fine,” he reassures. 

Itadori tugs on the sleeve of his shirt at the same time that Megumi does, looking quite guilty. They often spar, but not hard enough to cause injuries, but Megumi is well aware of the desperation that comes with trying to hide something you don’t want others to see. Megumi glances down at Itadori’s wrist, but the mark is covered, Itadori’s fingers tightly holding the sleeve in place. 

“I didn’t see,” Megumi ends up saying, which is only a partial truth. He did see, but not enough to make out a name. The tension leaves Itadori’s body all the same. 

“Oh, good,” he says with a smile, rubbing the back of his head. “I figured you wouldn’t want to talk about it, considering you never show yours.”

He pauses as Itadori slaps him on the back with a bit too much strength, not hard enough to bruise but hard enough that Megumi feels it in every inch of his lungs as they rattle inside his ribcage. 

“It’s not that,” Megumi says after a moment, left hand pressed against his side. He won’t look down at his mark, he won’t. Itadori looks at him curiously as Megumi struggles for words. 

“I wouldn’t mind listening,” Megumi eventually manages, “if you want to talk about it.”

Itadori tilts his head slightly, eyes unfocused and it takes Megumi a moment to realize he’s listening , Megumi half expects a mouth with a single crimson eye to appear on his cheek. 

Itadori’s hand slaps over his cheek before Sukuna can appear through, brow furrowing, but still nodding. “Sure, Fushiguro, want to have a movie night?”

His shoulders drop, relaxing, Itadori claps a hand on his shoulder in a show of friendship, and for the first time in a long time, something eases in Megumi’s chest.


The movie is halfway over when Megumi feels like he’ll snap if he doesn’t talk about it, if he doesn’t have Itadori talk about it. At the same time, anticipation and dread curl up so tightly in his stomach that he’s sure that if Itadori starts talking, he’ll die from embarrassment. 

Instead he shifts anxiously, ignoring the twinge in his knee that still won’t go away, as they watch a movie that won’t ever stick in Megumi’s memory. Itadori had been excited about it, saying it was a time period piece about four women and drama and romance, and Megumi would have enjoyed it, or at least tried to, any other night. 

He suffers through the entire movie until the credits scroll across the screen and Itadori stretches out, near asleep on the couch next to him. Megumi isn’t sure he’ll be able to talk to the other, and that’s both a relief and a comfort. 

“Gojo told me, you know,” Itadori mumbles quietly. “So you can stop being all weird. It’s bad enough dealing with this guy.”

All the anxiousness over Itadori realizing who his soulmate is rushes out of Megumi only to return in full force, curling in his stomach horribly as Itadori peeks through sleepy, half closed eyes at him. Megumi was an idiot for thinking that Itadori would let him talk to Sukuna without running it by Gojo. He’s an even bigger idiot for thinking that Gojo would keep it a secret.

Megumi is going to kill Gojo Satoru. 

“You’re not...weirded out by it?” Megumi asks instead of rising to hunt down Gojo and beat some sense into him for spilling secrets that weren’t his. 

Itadori lets out a little noise, eyes drooping closed with sleep. “Are you?”

Megumi takes the time to think, so long that he wonders if Itadori has fallen asleep, the others breathing soft and even, slow on the couch. 

“I’m not,” Megumi eventually whispers, turning off the television. “But he’s a cursed spirit.”

Not only a cursed spirit, but the king of curses. The double faced spectre who haunted nightmares, whose legend remained across the world. Death and destruction incarnate.

Itadori’s voice is so low and quiet, that Megumi almost doesn’t hear it, but when he does, it feels like something slides into place in his life. There’s finality there, in the deepness of Itadori’s sleep filled voice.

“So?”


The curse slams him against the wall, and what little air that lingers in Megumi’s lungs leaves with a crack of his ribs. 

He couldn’t say where it had all gone wrong, only that everything had. The curse above him leers, taunting, and Megumi hardly has the strength to lift his hands and summon Nue. 

The cursed spirit advances, and though Megumi has seen plenty of cursed spirits in his life, he thinks that this one looks particularly wretched. It has a large, bulbous eye in the middle of its forehead, with fangs that dripped down the lower half of its face, and walked on all fours as it advanced towards Megumi. Its body is sickly yellow in color. 

Megumi’s bird shikigami spreads out its large wingspan before him, protecting him in a wave of orange and a horrible screech that threatens to burst his eardrums. Megumi takes stock of his injuries in the moment that he has.

At least three cracked ribs, blood drips into his eye from a wound on his forehead. His left ankle is either severely twisted or broken. 

Nue lets out a shriek as electricity dances over the cursed spirit, Megumi barely gets himself to his feet as he rolls out of the way of another blow, his shirt catching on a bit of debris, his left sleeve tearing from the elbow down. 

Megumi collapses, lungs struggling for air. The cursed spirit smashes into Nue, and Megumi feels that pain in his soul, they had both fought too hard, for too long, and he’d rather die himself before he let Nue perish. 

Nue disappears and Megumi is bare, vulnerable and a waiting prey, and there’s no moves left to make. He has no cursed energy left to summon anymore shikigami, his body is on the verge of giving out, he’s a sitting duck, at the mercy of a cursed spirit.

The cursed spirit advances again, and before it can descend upon Megumi and consume him as its next meal, it hesitates. The large bulbous eye fixates on Megumi, roving over his body before it lands on his wrist, to the name exposed to air and light for the first time in too long. 

Ryomen Sukuna

The creature leans forward, leans back just as quickly, and suddenly looks horrified by what it’s found. Megumi winces as the creature grabs him by the throat, hauling him up until he’s gasping for air as his feet no longer touch the ground. 

It doesn’t last long before the creature launches itself up, Megumi still gasps for breath as the cursed spirit drags him, bloodied and bruised to wherever it’s going to kill him, and finally winces as he’s set down on the ground, more carefully than a cursed spirit should be able to do.

Itadori stands above him, brow furrowed in confusion, just as bloodied and bruised as Megumi. He sways where he stands, hovering over Megumi, his lips uttering a confused ‘Fushiguro?’ before he shudders, black lines and another set of eyes appearing on his face, crimson and cold. 

The cursed spirit that placed him on the ground backs up, head bowed, legs awkwardly bent underneath it as it kneels before the king of curses. 

Megumi wishes, in the moment when Sukuna looks down upon him, that the cursed spirit had killed him. 

Sukuna doesn’t kneel, but he crouches, a sick grin twisting across his face. It doesn’t fit Itadori’s features, the smile settles too deeply and stretches too wide. Yet at the same time there is the knowledge that Itadori could make that face, if he wanted to. Megumi turns away, gritting his teeth as he attempts to sit up, holding his left wrist tightly against his chest, blocking the printed name from view.

“What did I tell you, Fushiguro Megumi?” he says with a laugh. “You look good, spread out underneath me.”

Two clawed fingers and a thumb grab Megumi’s chin, dragging his gaze back to the king of curses. Four ruby eyes glance over him, up and down, looking over his injuries, from the cut on his forehead to the way his foot twists the wrong way, to finally the bruises forming around his throat from where the cursed spirit grabbed him.

There’s hunger in Sukuna’s gaze, like he wants to eat Megumi where he lies. 

Sukuna is a storm of rage and barely suppressed power. Megumi can feel it pound against his skin, beating winds of anger and greed, a current of loathing and hatred.

Sukuna lets him go, Megumi slumps back against the ground as the king of curses stands back up, turning back to the cursed spirit who had nearly killed Megumi. 

“What a pitiful offering you’ve brought me,” Sukuna says slowly. “The scraps of your kill?”

Sukuna scoffs, waving a hand, and the cursed spirit that still knelt let out an anguished scream as blood poured from its wounds. It collapses, beginning to dissolve into nothingness. 

“Still, a pleasing offering.”

Megumi tears his eyes away from the space the monster had once inhibited to look back at Sukuna, who stared down at him curiously, hunger still across his features. 

“Just where you should be, Fushiguro Megumi, at my feet. That creature tried to gain a bit of my favor by not killing you.”

Sukuna crouches down once more, all four eyes level with Megumi’s bright green ones, that hunger still on his face as the king of curses licks his lips. Megumi scowls, pushing at Sukuna and gaining a bit of space when Megumi’s body moves back. Sukuna is a brick wall, sturdy and unforgiving. 

One large hand reached out to Megumi’s face, thumb brushing over the still dripping blood from his wound. It disappears into Sukuna’s mouth a moment later, wet and shiny and red, and Megumi’s breath stills in his chest. 

“I’ll see you soon, my little offering,” Sukuna says, licking his lips, tongue darting between teeth and showing a glimpse of fangs. 

That’s all the warning that Megumi gets before Itadori collapses on the ground next to him, disoriented and confused, leaving Megumi with too much to think about.


He can feel Sukuna more than he can see him, the next time that he climbs to the roof with his newest book. It’s a collection of tales, stories Megumi has been told at some point, but can’t remember the details of.

It has been three days since the cursed spirit had deposited him at the feet of the king of curses like an offering ready for the plucking. 

Sukuna sits on the edge of the roof, one arm wrapped around his knee that’s drawn up, the other dangling off the edge. Megumi debates summoning Banshou to blow the cursed spirit away with a spray of water. 

Sukuna would be fine. He wouldn’t be happy, but he would be fine.

“You shouldn’t be out,” is all Megumi says at first, because Sukuna doesn’t have anything to gain from this, but everything to lose. 

The higher ups will not overlook another transgression this time, and what’s left of Sukuna through Itadori will be thrown out like trash. 

Sukuna doesn’t turn to look at him, only gesturing at the spot next to him. “Sit.”

Megumi sighs as he does so, sitting next to Sukuna, the oppressive weight of cursed energy pressing down on his shoulders, making him wince. Sukuna smirks into the darkness, finally turning to look at Megumi with amusement clear on his face. 

“You’re not afraid of me,” Sukuna points out. Megumi shrugs. 

“If you wanted to kill me, you would have by now.”

Sukuna’s grin turns sharp and Megumi opens his book instead, pointedly paying attention to it until he can feel the cursed energy that rested thick in the air ease. Sukuna is still watching him, waiting for something, Megumi isn’t sure what. 

Sukuna could have killed him the moment that the cursed spirit dropped Megumi at his feet, but he hadn’t. The name printed on his wrist had saved him not once but twice, in the most unexpected ways. 

He wonders, in the golden age of jujutsu, when Sukuna had been at his most powerful, if the king of curses would have murdered him the moment he was given as an offering. 

Sukuna lets out the breath of a sigh. “What do you have there?”

Megumi looks down at the book loosely held between his hands. He had grabbed it from the library on a whim, without thought to the contents. He’s developed an affection for fiction, and though he still read the non fiction books he was fond of, Megumi found himself intrigued at the words and myths that legends had created. 

“It’s a book of stories,” Megumi ends  up saying. “A collection of them. I thought it looked interesting.”

He doesn’t have to justify, to explain his reasoning, but he finds himself doing it anyways, under Sukuna’s four crimson eyes that look as though they’re trying to stare into his soul. 

His fingers tighten on the spine of the book. “Why didn’t you kill me, back then?”

Megumi hadn’t been in any shape to fight. Sukuna could have snapped his neck and that would have been the end of it, the end of his existence and the one weakness that Ryomen Sukuna allowed himself to have. 

Sukuna’s grin is still just as sharp as he answers. 

“That wouldn’t have been any fun, would it? No, if we fight, when I win and take everything you are, it will be when you are at your full strength, and you will give yourself over to me willingly.”

Megumi sets his jaw, opening the book to a random page, it’s the middle of the story of King Arthur, but he finds that he doesn’t care, gluing his eyes to the page and the words that don’t absorb in his head. 

“That’s never going to happen,” Megumi bit out shortly.

Sukuna chuckles, a deep rich sound before he turns back to look at the horizon. In the distance, the glittering lights of the city can be seen, a place that is so close and yet so far. Sukuna reaches a hand out to the skyline. 

“And what can you offer me instead?” he asks. “I could leave, go out and bring this world to its knees. I’m giving you a chance, Fushiguro Megumi. You dare throw it back in my face?”

He pauses, turning back to Megumi with mirth in his gaze and excitement on his lips. 

“What will you offer me, if not yourself, to stop me in anything that I wish to do?”

What could he give if not himself? Megumi isn’t sure that there’s something that Sukuna has not been offered before, at the height of his power, when he paraded as more of a god than a king of curses. 

Sukuna twitches impatiently when Megumi fails to reply. “You act like you want me to do such things.”

Megumi blinks, finally forcing his jaw to move, to work, to say something before Sukuna changes his mind and disappears to cause havoc and destruction. 

“Nothing,” Megumi says after a moment. “I won’t offer you anything, but I’ll ask you to stay.”

He wonders if anyone has ever asked the double-faced spectre to stay, if anyone ever simply wanted Sukuna’s company for the sake of his company, who wasn’t after power or glory or an intent to kill or fearing for their lives. 

Sukuna stares at him, eyes bright, a smile on the edges of his lips and Megumi looks away after a second, something warm in his chest. 

He’s surprised Sukuna, and he’s not sure anyone’s been able to do that before.

“Ask again,” Sukuna breaths, leaning closer. Megumi meets his gaze steadily. 

“Stay.”


Every time he’s facing a stronger cursed spirit than himself, Megumi wonders if it’ll be the end of him. 

Not this time. He gasps in a shuddering breath as the cursed spirit—another wretched looking thing that looks like a moving tar, it’s shape constantly changing—drips a bit of black goo onto his skin, burning it. 

If he lives through this one, he’ll come out with more scars than he cares to count.

The cursed spirit taunts him, jeering and letting out enough noises for Megumi to realize it’s sentient, enough for it to have thought. Megumi realizes a second too late that they had the grade of this cursed spirit down all wrong. 

There was no one who was going to help him this time. No Gojo waiting on the sidelines to make sure he didn’t die, no Sukuna just out of range to take care of the problem.

Megumi doesn’t think, he moves, barely gets out of the way as the creature upends its stomach where he had just been, leaving a burning black tar in its wake. It smells of death and destruction.

It simply wouldn’t do to have the soulmate of Ryomen Sukuna be so weak. 

His fingers twist together, summoning the last of his cursed energy as he weaves them together. Chimera Shadow Garden is still unfinished, still pathetically weak but encasing the cursed spirit as half formed shadow creatures swam. 

The cursed spirit doesn’t have a chance as the shadows chase, taking the cursed spirit as one of their own, until Megumi can’t tell the difference between the black tar that was once a cursed spirit and the darkness of his shadow shikigami. 

Megumi collapses, finally allowing himself a bit of rest.


He doesn’t go to the roof that night to meet Sukuna. He lays in bed, with more bandages than he can count decorating his skin, all from small burns that will no doubt leave scars. They hurt when he moves, and though he aches to be outside when he can’t sleep, climbing up to the roof sounds like too much work. 

Megumi doesn’t have to wait too long, though he still has to wait. The door creaks open, and Megumi ridiculously thinks that he needs to fix that as Sukuna walks in, eyeing Megumi up and down from his bandaged place on his bed. 

Then he smirks, sitting on the edge of it, and if Megumi didn’t know any better, he would think Sukuna looks proud.

“Nice,” Sukuna says with a nod of his head. “I knew you could do it.”

Megumi ignores the spark of warmth that settles in his chest from the words. 

“I’m not a weakling who can’t defend himself,” Megumi says, too tired to have any real bite to his words. 

Sukuna only keeps that little smile to his face as he nods. “No, you’re not.”

The king of curses picks up the book on Megumi’s nightstand, the book of stories that Megumi had brought up with him to the roof the other night. He places it in Megumi’s lap, settling next to him, almost too casual to be normal. 

“Read,” Sukuna says simply. “It’ll help you sleep.”

Megumi looks at him, then back at the book. It was marked in the middle of the story, one Megumi truly hadn’t cared for, but wanted to finish anyway. 

He did always tend to read when he couldn’t sleep, but that wasn’t the thought that made a smile come to his face. 

“Do you want me to read to you?” Megumi asks. 

Sukuna scowls at him. He’s too dangerous to truly pout, everything about Sukuna screams threatening. It’s almost like having a tiger laying on Megumi’s bed. 

The tiger taps the spine of the book. 

“Read,” he repeats simply. 

Megumi rolls his eyes, opening the book and wincing at the pain in his hands as he turns to a story he hadn’t started yet. Sukuna might be bossy, but that’s no reason for Megumi to start in the middle of a story and leave him wondering. 

He reads aloud softly, slowly, until his eyes droop and the words slur together. Something warm cups his jaw, the faintest of touch Megumi isn’t sure that he truly feels, and the smell of incense and sage fills his nose. 

When he wakes the next morning, the book is placed on the table next to him, and when he peels back the bandages to change them, his skin is whole and unmarked, like he was never burned in the first place.


He wakes from a nightmare with a gasp, heart pounding so hard in his chest that it's sure to beat out of the cage of his ribs and land into his lap. 

The red organ would beat steadily as his blood drained out of it, but Megumi would be able to fall back and get a decent night's sleep for once, instead of having to wait until he’s exhausted from a mission to do so. 

There’s no hope for sleep any longer. Megumi sighs, slipping on a pair of shoes as he summons his divine dog, whistling for it as he makes his way up to the roof. 

He’s not in much of a mood for reading, but he takes his newest book with him nevertheless, placing it open in his lap as he looks out at the skyline. His dog rests heavily against his side, letting out little huffs of sighs as it relaxed. 

He hears footsteps before he feels the presence of another. Megumi rubs the exhaustion from his eyes as he turns, blinking up at the king of curses. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his pants, looking down at Megumi like he’s a mystery that can’t be solved. 

Megumi returns the sentiment, dismissing his dog before Sukuna can destroy another of his shikigami. 

“Can’t sleep?” Sukuna asks, crossing his legs as he sits next to Megumi. 

Sukuna radiates warmth, chasing away a bit of chill of night before it can settle on Megumi’s skin. Megumi ends up nodding slowly, not sure what to make of the question. “Do you want me to read to you again?”

Sukuna hums, a deep noise from inside of his chest, and he nods, looking down at the book. It’s different this time, this book is one that Nobara had recommended a while ago, he had never gotten around to reading it. 

“For a little while,” Sukuna says. He wraps an arm around Megumi’s waist, pulling him close until he’s practically sitting in the other man's lap. 

Any cold rushes out of his system with a breath, Sukuna's cursed energy bubbles just underneath the surface of his skin, the rumble of thunder just before the lightning. He ignores the heat on his face as he turns to the first page, clearing his throat as he begins. 

“This is my favorite book in all of the world, and I have never read it.”


He watches Gojo and Itadori, standing together at the edge of the practice ring. 

Megumi has known his mentor for most of his life. The man had been more of a father figure than his own. And yet Megumi has never seen him act the way he has around Itadori. Even with the blindfold on, Megumi can see Gojo’s eyes following Itadori at practice, on missions, everywhere. 

It’s not the same way that Gojo watches Megumi, or watches Kugisaki. Megumi doesn’t think that there’s anyone that Gojo watches as carefully as he watches Itadori Yuuji. 

Megumi waits until night, when the moon is high and Sukuna walks into his room like he owns the place, settling himself next to Megumi in bed. 

It’s quiet, and strange, when this started happening. Megumi doesn’t question it too much though, because finally he can fall asleep at normal times, finally he’s getting rest, and sometimes Sukuna will heal the wounds he gets from missions before they can leave a scar. 

Sukuna places himself next to Megumi, fitting himself in the space as though he was always meant to be there. Megumi doesn’t react when an arm wraps itself around his waist. 

Sukuna is always gone by morning, leaving Megumi only the warmth and a new place marked in his book. 

“The brat’s soulmate is that sorcerer, the one with the six eyes,” Sukuna says, before Megumi can ask. When all he does is look at Sukuna, the double-faced spectre stares back at him impassively. 

“You were wondering, weren’t you?”

Well, yes, he was, but Megumi ignores the pieces that fall into place in that puzzle and turns to the one that has just presented itself.

Because the only way Sukuna would have realized he was wondering is if he was watching, and somehow he’s managing to do that in Itadori’s body, watching him close enough to realize what Megumi’s thinking. Crimson tiger eyes that watch his every movement, hunting down its prey.

Megumi nods, a sharp rise and fall of his head. Sukuna grabs the book from the nightstand, throwing it down in Megumi’s lap. 

“Start reading,” he says, and then pauses. “I want to know what happens with the giant.”

Megumi tsks, clicking his tongue as he turns to the page he left off of. “He has a name, you know.”

Sukuna smirks, sharp and bold, resting his head against Megumi’s shoulder as the other starts to read once more.


Megumi cards the fingers of his left hand through short pink hair, the right hand holds the book closer to his face, eyes following along with the words as he spoke slowly, clearly, doing his best not to trip over the words. 

They have a new book this time, one Megumi picked out. They’ve read enough to be halfway through it, and Megumi wonders what he should pick next for the king of curses.

If he didn’t know better, he would think that the king of curses was asleep in his lap. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest is even, hands folded across his stomach, clothed for once in a shirt Megumi’s half convinced is the one that’s been missing from his wardrobe.

In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.’"

Sukuna doesn’t move, and neither does Megumi, as he reads of a love confession between two people, two characters in a book. Megumi’s voice is steady because he makes it steady, because he knows one blip, one wrong move is something Sukuna will never let him forget. 

Besides, it is that of the king of curses, he’s reading aloud to. It’s a demon, who only knows love and dedication through that of offerings, who in his entire life, has never had someone love him deeply and truly, simply because it was him. 

What does the king of curses know of love?


It becomes a routine that he doesn’t notice it, doesn’t notice how strange it all is until an emergency happens, and Megumi’s in the middle of reading of Mr. Rochester finally spins the tale of what exactly is happening in his life and what lives in his attic, when suddenly Gojo is there. 

Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer, standing stock still at the entrance to his room, mouth gaping open as he looks at Megumi, legs thrown haphazardly into Sukuna’s lap, a blush staining his cheeks. 

“Yuuji?” Gojo asks, confused, brows furrowing, before Sukuna’s grip tightens, his glare practically burning a hole through Gojo Satoru. 

Gojo’s shoulders relax all at once, Megumi can still feel the tension in the room as two equally powerful people stare each other down. He tries to untangle himself from Sukuna’s lap, but a sharp nailed hand on his thigh makes it clear that moving would be a very bad idea. 

“Not Yuuji,” Gojo breaths. He glances between the two of them, smirking cruel and wide. “Should I get Kugisaki for the mission, then?”

Megumi wants nothing more than to die. To curl up and wonder why his life is like this, why the universe and everything in it decided Sukuna would be his soulmate, and why Gojo still hasn’t left his room. 

“You should,” Sukuna says before Megumi can reply. The claws of the tiger tighten on his thigh. 

Gojo pauses, glancing once more before the two of them before those eyes land on Megumi, even through the blindfold. Megumi briefly wonders if he can disappear into his shadows like his shikigami. 

“We’ll have to talk tomorrow, Megumi,” Gojo says, and then he’s gone, leaving Megumi’s bedroom door wide open, and leaving Megumi alone with the king of curses. 

Sukuna huffs out a sigh, nails digging into the soft flesh of Megumi’s thigh before he lets go, flicking his fingers. The door of Megumi’s room slams shut, the lock turning. 

They’ve lost their page in the book, but it hardly seems to matter. Sukuna’s head rests against his shoulder, and tentatively, though he’s done it before without thinking, Megumi brings his hand up to run his fingers through the soft locks. The scent of sage and incense washes over him. 

“If you had been born back then, I would have killed you,” Sukuna says. Megumi hums softly, picking up the book to find their page once more. 

Megumi almost laughs. “I know.”

There’s something akin to regret, in Sukuna’s voice.


It feels as though his heart is sleeping when he’s not near Sukuna, only bringing itself to life when the cursed spirit is there, slumbering when they’re apart. The mess of their lives finds no reprise when Itadori still owns his body most of the time, and is the true soulmate of the strongest sorcerer. 

Megumi feels like a checker playing amongst the chess pieces. He exists only to be in the way when Gojo finally opens his arms and lets Itadori into them, realizing that having a weakness is not as simple as he thinks it is. 

And yet in those times when Sukuna does make his way out, something ignites inside of Megumi, bright and fierce and his heart is no longer slumbering away. 

Sukuna presses a kiss against his neck and Megumi sighs, body melting into the gesture, and thinks this is it, this is the moment he was made for.


“Do you have a mark?” 

Megumi finally finds the courage to ask as Sukuna pushes his sleeve down slightly, mouthing at his own name printed on Megumi’s snow white skin. His mouth is wet and hot, feeling as though it will burn Megumi with its touch. 

The body is stolen and Megumi knows this. He knows it’s Itadori’s body, with the name of the strongest sorcerer stamped on the left wrist. He could turn his head slightly and see the blank wrist, but he still waits for his answer. 

“You know the answer to that, little one,” Sukuna says after a moment, still pressing his lips against Megumi’s mark. 

He still waits, staring. Sukuna sighs, crimson eyes flash with impatience, but Megumi doesn’t waver.

“You know my true body is a cursed spirit. They don’t have soulmates,” Sukuna explains. 

Megumi nods, and hesitates. “You were human before that.”

Before greed and corruption had worn through and Sukuna became a cursed spirit that would have ruled the world. 

Megumi moves until he’s straddling Sukuna, the cursed spirits back against the headboard. From this angle, Megumi can look down on him slightly, and wait patiently for his answer. One of Sukuna’s hands found his waist, nails digging into his skin but not painfully, not yet. 

“You are so unique, Fushiguro Megumi,” Sukuna drawls out, “born a thousand years too late, and yet somehow still the most important person in existence.”

Megumi’s breath catches and he waits, as he always does, because Sukuna has waited a thousand years for him, Megumi can wait a second more. 

“All this says,” Sukuna says, placing his lips against Megumi’s mark again, hot breath fanning out over the skin, “is that you were made for me. You, and everything you are, everything you will become, have always been mine.”

Sukuna’s sharp teeth scrape against his skin, but there’s no fear in Megumi’s blood, no anticipation of a bite or bloody wound that would tear his skin from bone. Sukuna’s intent might be devouring him whole, but it’s not through eating flesh and bone.

Megumi does not pout, but he waits, because it’s still not the answer he wants to his question. Sukuna rolls his eyes at him, a habit he had picked up from Itadori. 

“I no longer remember what mine said,” Sukuna murmurs. “I hardly remember anything about being human, anymore. I was one, and then I wasn’t, and now I’m here.”

With you goes unsaid. Most of what Sukuna says goes unsaid. 

Megumi sighs, tilting his head up for a moment. Sukuna takes advantage of his exposed throat, pressing a kiss at the hollow of it. His breath is hot and moist, Megumi feels like he’s being baked alive. 

After being cold for so long, it’s almost enjoyable. 

“Is it not enough to know you’re mine? To know the universe made you for me?” Sukuna speaks against his skin, teeth scraping skin, his words almost unheard. 

Megumi would carve out a place for himself in Sukuna’s arms, and be the only person in the universe allowed to do so. 

“But I’m not,” he whispers, quiet as ever. Sukuna pauses, waiting. 

“I wasn’t made for you. I was made for me,” Megumi reiterates.

Sukuna pulls back enough to look at him. Megumi’s still perched in his lap, the book they had been reading forgotten next to them. From this angle he can look down at Sukuna, and that sends a shiver down his spine, one Sukuna is sure to feel. 

His eyes are glowing crimson with an emotion Megumi’s never seen before. One black nailed hand comes up, cupping Megumi’s cheek softer than Sukuna has ever held anything in his life. 

“That you are, Fushiguro Megumi,” Sukuna agrees, “but you can exist for yourself, and still be made for me.”

The space carved there against the king of curses feels like warmth, like home, like it was built only for Megumi in mind. It was built for Sukuna to take, and take, and take, and for Megumi to give, and give, and give. 

For the first time, Megumi takes what he wants. He leans down, pressing his lips against Sukuna’s own, the king of curses still cupping his cheek. Their kiss is soft and sweet with just a hint of teeth and bite. 

When the universe breathed Fushiguro Megumi into existence, it made him not one half of a separate whole, but the other half of a balance, the calm that comes before the storm, the rush before the fall. 

And because the universe makes no mistakes, Ryomen Sukuna, the storm tethered to Fushiguro Megumi, was born a thousand years earlier. 

The calm before the storm holds onto the thunder and lightning, of rage and hate and everything cursed in the world, and the world balances out.