Chapter Text
Itadori Yuuji had asked Sukuna to give living a try and stay with him, yet the King of Curses chose to curse him instead.
Don't underestimate me, brat! I'm a curse! – The curse had said.
And with that final declaration, Sukuna essentially crumbled. He watched Uraume, the one who had always stood by his side take her own life. Her motivation had always been to follow her king.
Death, Sukuna had always believed, was a door he would walk through with laughter on his tongue.
He had told the brat as much.
Curses did not end. They curdled in the dark corners of humanity and returned, over and over, reborn from hatred, fear, envy from the parts of people that rotted but never disappeared. He had been worshipped once, feared always. The King of Curses was not something that simply vanished because one stubborn boy decided to bare his teeth and fight.
And yet he remembered being inside that domain.
The air inside felt strange. Not heavy like Malevolent Shrine. Not oppressive with slaughter and inevitability. Instead, it manifest the serene, nostalgic landscape of the boy’s hometown, Sendai. A quiet street bathed in the fading sunset, the distant hum of cicadas, and the colorful flowers lining rundown shops. Everything felt alive like a memory come to life.
The brat had stood there rambling about childhood memories and simple happiness, speaking of things Sukuna had never cared for and never would.
It was a shame, truly.
Sukuna had no feeling for such trivialities.
And that brat had dared pitying him, disgusting, he felt no more than rage to make the brat miserable in all his life.
“You can choose,” his vessel had said.
Choose.
The audacity.
As if Sukuna were some stray dog offered a bowl of water.
As if centuries of blood and glory could be erased by a child’s mercy.
Death doesn't scare him. He had laughed in that place, a sound sharp and cruel, echoing against the illusion of peace. He was a curse. He would be reborn. Again and again. Humanity would never be rid of him because humanity would never rid itself of the ugliness that birthed him.
So Sukuna welcomed it.
Rebirth would take time, perhaps decades. Perhaps centuries. He imagined himself coalescing slowly from whispers and resentment, forming again somewhere far from the many sorcerer who had dared to stand above him. Revenge will be sweet.
He would return.
-----
When Sukuna opened his eyes, he expected rot. Or darkness that followed, silence as if the world tremble before him. He expected shadows thick with curses. He expected hunger clawing at his ribs as he pieced himself together from nothing.
Instead, he saw light.
It was too bright. It did not sting like sunlight on bloodstained stone. It filtered gently, almost warm and almost comforting. He feels oddly comfortable.
He blinked. His vision was unfocused at first when two blurred figures shapes hovering above him.
When one leaned forward. The familiar white hair, impossibly bright, falling over a face Sukuna had loathed with a special kind of irritation. The serene light blue eyes, uncovered, shining with something that was not mockery.
“Look at that,” The white hair murmured, voice quieter than Sukuna had ever heard it. “He’s staring already.”
What?
The second figure comes into view. This time with pink hair. The Warm honey brown eyes stared straight into his with unfamiliar affection. Itadori Yuuji. His vessel.
The fuck?
There were faint lines at the corners of his eyes now, barely noticeable. His presence felt broader and steadier. The reckless boy had sharpened into something solid. The brat he hated has grown up.
His vessel smiled. Not triumphant and not even challenging, as if the creature in front of him in not a thousand curse that killed many people.
“He’s got your glare,” he said, almost amused. “That’s definitely yours.”
Sukuna’s thoughts did not immediately form into rage. They formed into confusion.
Why were they here?
Why could he see them so clearly?
Why did their voices sound so close?
He tried to sit up but his body did not respond the way it should have.
There was no rush of cursed energy pooling at his core. No familiar weight of power coiling beneath his skin. There was only—
Smallness? His arm lifted into his field of vision.
It was wrong. Too short and too round. The fingers that flexed experimentally were tiny, faintly dimpled at the knuckles, soft in a way Sukuna’s hands had never been.
He stared at them. The hand trembled not with power but with weakness he never associated with.
A strange sound left his throat , a broken, breathy noise he did not recognize as his own.
The brat’s expression shifted immediately.
“Oh! hey, hey,” he said, leaning closer. “It’s okay.”
Okay? Sukuna attempted to gather cursed energy. He reached inward for the vast ocean that had once answered him without hesitation and there was nothing.
His gaze snapped back to the white hair sorcerer.
The sorcerer tilted his head slightly, as if examining something precious.
“Awww looks like he’s thinking hard,” the man mused. “That’s not so very baby-like.”
Baby.
The word struck like a blow.
Sukuna’s other hand came into view as he instinctively tried to form a sign, any sign. His fingers refused to bend properly, stiff and uncoordinated. They brushed against something soft wrapped around him.
Fabric and Blankets. He realized, slowly, that he was lying down. On his back. Looking up at them.
He was beneath them.
The hell? Sukuna realize he must be in hell now.
The King of Curses did not lie beneath anyone. He tried to snarl.
But what emerged was a thin, wavering cry. The betrayal of his own throat stunned him into silence.
His vessel’s face changed instantly. Concern flooded it so purely that it felt foreign.
“Hey, hey, my love, don’t cry,” His vessel said gently, sliding his hand beneath Sukuna’s head and lifting him. Before Sukuna even realized it, something warm pressed against his forehead.
Whatttttt!!!!!
The contact was warm. When he realized the his vessel had kissed him. Sukuna tried to yank away. His arm twitched uselessly. If he had even a fraction of his former strength, he could have torn free effortlessly.
White hair’s long fingers brushed against Sukuna’s tiny hand, and he felt it skin against skin. He gripped it, trying to crush the man’s finger to bone. The white-haired sorcerer’s thumb pressed gently against his palm, steady and careful.
“He’s got a strong grip,” the man said lightly. He began humming a song, a song Sukuna had once heard on TV, the one the brat used to play to comfort some lost child. Sukuna tried to muster more strength, attempting to crush the finger even harder.
The man just laughed softly. “See?”
His vessel's smile deepened, and something dangerously warm flickered in his eyes. “He’s stubborn.”
Stubborn. As if that were an adorable trait. Sukuna’s mind raced.
This was not rebirth as a curse. This was not coalescing from hatred. This was—
A body.
Human.
Fragile.
New.
He tried again to reach inward, searching for the core of himself, the ancient presence that had once dwarfed mountains and slaughtered sorcerers like insects.
There was a trace. Just a A whisper of something familiar.
But it was buried beneath something else.
The cursed energy inside him was not separate. It was not dominant. It felt… blended. As though his essence had dissolved into another and reformed as something different.
No.
No.
His vessel shifted him slightly, adjusting the blanket around his small body.
He try to calm his mind and adjusting his vision to take on his surrounding.
It wasn’t a hospital. It wasn’t a battlefield. It was a luxurious room. Sunlight spilled across the polished floors. Faint scuff marks lingered near the doorway, and a pair of shoes lay abandoned carelessly. On a nearby table, two cups of tea sat, steam still curling upward.
Domestic. The word disgusted him more than death ever could.
The white hair leaned closer, his expression fill with undeniable softness. “You know my love,” he said quietly, “it’s kind of poetic.”
“Don’t start.” His vessel huffed faintly.
“I’m just saying,” he continued, pouting slightly “if someone told me years ago that we’d be here, I would’ve laughed in their face..and send them to psychiatrist.”
His vessel leaned into him, pressing a small kiss to the man’s neck.
Fuck my life.
“Yeah,” he said, softer now. “Me too.”
Sukuna listened. He hated that he had no choices but listened.
He had realized he been dragged somewhere beyond death. He had been forced into flesh. Sukuna is the king of curse yes but even he don't know what to make of universe. Fate they say? What's the reason behind this? A Second chance? Bullshit.
Sukuna’s gaze sharpened, focusing on his vessel sorcerer’s face.
You always choose to save, Sukuna thought bitterly. Even when you shouldn’t.
His vessel noticed the intense stare. “He’s looking at me again,” his vessel said, half amused. “That's the looks of love right”
White hair chuckled burrowing his face on the soft pink hair. “Of course it is. You carried him for many months.”
Carried him.
Sukuna’s thoughts stuttered.
Carried—
Yeah he had come to realization that he is in fact reborn as a human. But this brat pink hair is carrying him? Did Sukuna assume he had just appeared out of thin air as a baby? Yup.
He tried once more to summon Malevolent Shrine.
He pictured it clearly the open air, the shrine’s grotesque beauty, the slicing dismantle that obeyed him absolutely.
Still nothing manifested. Only a faint ripple inside his small body, like the echo of a distant memory.
White hair’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You feel that?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah. Just a flicker.”
Sukuna stilled.They could sense it. Of course they could.
White hair brushed a stray strand of pink hair from Sukuna’s forehead. “It’s faint" he laughed "My love, I'm afraid he's gonna be the most powerful ever when he grows up"
His vessel adjusted his hold and brought Sukuna closer to his chest. "Perhaps, but we will always be with him, guiding and protecting him through everything"
The proximity was suffocating, shockingly warm and not uninviting. His vessel’s heartbeat thudded against Sukuna’s ear, rhythmic and annoyingly comforting.
Sukuna tried to twist away. His body barely shifted.
His vessel mistook the movement. “Hm, Hungry?” he wondered softly.
The white hair smiled lazily. “Eh we just fed him like 15 minutes ago”
"Well, that's because he got your big appetite"
“But my lovely sweet yuji~,” the white-haired man whined, nuzzling into his vessel’s face, “how could I not? Your cooking is the best thing ever! I’d die if I didn’t get at least one bite a day.”
“Hey! That’s ticklish, go away! I need to feed him!” His vessel laughed, the sound filling the room.
Sukuna closed his eyes briefly, overwhelmed by the absurdity.
He had expected eternity.
He had expected vengeance.
Instead, he was swaddled in blankets, trapped in the arms of the boy who killed him and the sorcerer who tried to end him.
Sukuna opened his eyes again and finally really looked at them.
There was no mockery in white hair’s expression. No naive defiance in his vessel's. Only a gentle softness radiated from both of them.
For him.
The King of Curses.
He had expected to return as a curse, shaped by humanity’s ugliness.
Instead, he had been forced into humanity itself.
He did not understand it.
His vessel continued speaking whatever with the white hair, but Sukuna’s thoughts wandered.
Three things kept looping endlessly in his mind.
First
Since when had his vessel been infatuated with the white-haired sorcerer? Sukuna had known of his admiration to the teacher. Of respect. But this? This softness? This intimacy?
Is the brat blind?
What could that infuriating sorcerer possibly offer him? That sorcerer is absolutely the most disgusting sorcerer he ever encountered.
And the fact that Sukuna could see how utterly smitten they were… just from their eyes alone… was disgusting.
Second
His mind drifted back to the Heian era. Was there any curse? Any legend? Any history that spoke of men bearing children? None.
The only explanation was that his vessel was an anomaly, a force of nature. A body that once held the King of Curses might have adapted. And since his body once bear the greatest curse, perhaps it had somehow adapted to bear another life? He shuddered at the thought.
Third
Why specifically sukuna? The brat can get all pregnant he wants but why he. is. here. What kind of twisted god found amusement in this?