Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: It’s Just a Dream (No, It’s Not. It’s Real.)

Everything is hazy.

Heat.
Confusion.
Burning.

A strange warmth coils around your bones, welcome and terrifying at the same time. You feel your ribs shift—no, crack—your body reshaping itself from the inside out. Your center of balance tilts, weight settling differently on your chest, your hips, your back. You feel yourself shrink, just a little, like reality is adjusting you by hand.

Your head throbs like someone is driving a hammer into your skull.

You groan, clutching your forehead.

And then you see it—
dark droplets splattered across your fingers.

Blood.

“…what…?”

You stagger, turning toward the nearest surface that can reflect anything: a dusty, broken window of what looks like an abandoned store. No—scratch that. The entire area looks like an urban exploration video. Cracked pavement. Empty lots. Rust. Silence.

You freeze.

Staring back at you are—

brown-yellow warding eyes.
short pink hair.
a confused expression.
and… breasts?!

A stupid, familiar face.
One you’ve seen a thousand times in manga panels and anime frames.

You look like Yuji Itadori.
A female Yuji Itadori.

You gasp.
And the curse you spit out?
Comes out in Japanese.

The world tilts.

Suddenly a flood of memories slams into your mind like a truck—
not yours.

His. Yuji’s.

Parkour.
Urban exploration on his day off.
Running across abandoned roofs just for the thrill.
A slip.
A fall.
A sickening crack.

He died.
He actually died.

And you woke up inside his body—
a body reshaping itself to match your own female form.

Your breath stutters as you look around again.
Tiny curses skitter in the corners, like half-melted plastic toys come to life.
The biggest is only the size of a handbag.

You let out an unhinged laugh.

“Haha… funny. What a ridiculous dream.”

You keep laughing.
Because the alternative is terrifying.

“What the—
What the f—
WTF—”

Your laugh breaks into panic.

“THIS ISN’T REAL. THIS ISN’T REAL—THIS ISN’T—”

But it feels real.
The air.
The blood.
The pain.

You stumble backward, instincts dragging you through familiar streets you’ve never walked. Your feet move on their own, following a path etched in Yuji’s memory.

Straight to the school grounds.
Straight to the old Stevenson shed.

You open the door.

You laugh again, high and hysterical.

Of course.
Of course this dream would go that far.

This was Jujutsu Kaisen.
The last anime you binge-watched before face-planting onto your desk at work.

Your hand moves before your brain catches up.
You open the talisman-wrapped case.

Inside lies a single, rotting, cursed object:

Sukuna’s finger.

A normal person would scream.
You just mutter:

“…what does it taste like?”

You unwrap it with trembling fingers.

You swallow it.

It tastes like soap and wax and raw fear.

Then—

BOOM.

Your entire body ignites.
A burning, vicious, malicious energy floods your veins like molten iron.
You hear laughter—deep, cruel, delighted.

Sukuna.

But underneath the humor is confusion.
Pain, even.

“—how the hell are you suppressing me, brat—?”

You have no idea.

You pinch yourself.
Hard.

“It’s a dream.
Just a dream.
Wake up—wake up, WAKE UP—”

You punch yourself.
Harder.

Nothing changes.

And then the worst realization hits you:

If the sorcerers find out you ate the finger—
you’re dead.

Yuji’s entire life after that moment was suffering.
Execution orders, Sukuna’s control, nonstop battles…

Your stomach lurches.

You follow your new body’s instincts and somehow make it back to Yuji’s home. The quiet emptiness hits like a weight.

Yuji’s grandfather—Wasuke—
his only guardian, only family—
was still alive, but barely.
Dying in a hospital bed.
Hating visits.
Pushing Yuji away.

So Yuji became the class clown.
Joined every club.
Quit every club.
Finally ended up in the Occult Club because it let him leave at 5 p.m.
Just early enough to visit his grandpa.

You wipe away a few tears that aren’t entirely yours.

Yuji was a lot like you.
Surrounded…but alone.

You hug yourself.
This new body feels foreign.
Too real to be a dream.
Too unreal to accept as reality.

How were you supposed to survive this world?
Even the tiny curses made your skin crawl.

You slump into the chair in front of Yuji’s laptop.
It takes a few minutes of panicked scrolling before something clicks.

Online schooling.
Remote classes.
Jobs on short notice.
Small gigs.
Delivery work.
Sorting food.
Folding clothes in backrooms.
Just enough to travel Japan quietly.
Off the grid.
Never stay long enough to be found.

“You’re a smart weakling,” Sukuna mutters in the back of your mind, sounding offended.

You ignore him.

You register for online courses.
Download job apps.
Plot routes across Japan.

Anything.
Everything.
To keep moving.

You pack Yuji’s backpack, look around his bedroom one last time, and whisper:

“…I’ll come back. Maybe.”

But not now.

Not when your life depends on disappearing.

Ignoring the curses lurking in the corners, you board the first train out.
To a nearby town with cheap internet café cubicles and part-time work.

You just have to keep running.
Just until you wake up—
if you ever wake up.

But deep down…
deep, deep down…

You already know.

This isn’t a dream.

This is your new normal.

Your new life.

Your new hell.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2 – I Got No Roots, My Heart’s Always on the Run

The train rattled beneath you, steady and comforting in a way nothing else in your new life was. You munched on an onigiri—ume, your favorite. Sweet, fruity rice balls? Heavenly. Reliable. Safe. Unlike the freaking chaos inside your head.

You tried sushi once.

Once.

Never again.

Raw fish?
Disgusting.
Torture.
Whoever invented it deserved a light smacking.

You remembered standing in the middle of a 7-Eleven, lifting the tray dramatically and screaming in your best Gordon Ramsay impression:

“IT’S FUCKING RAW—EURGH!”

It echoed.
Loud.
Too loud.

Every kid outside stared at you.
The smokers paused mid-puff.
You probably looked like a deranged British tourist.

You clutched your pink hair, fake-crying:

“HOW DO PEOPLE LOVE EATING THIS!?”

Stares intensified.
You ran.

And Sukuna, who manifested a mouth on your cheek like it was the most normal thing in the world, grumbled:

“If you aren’t going to eat it, hime, give it to me.”

So you ducked into a quiet alley, cheeks burning, and reluctantly fed your parasite-gremlin-demon-king.

Gross?
Yes.
Embarrassing?
Yes.
A new normal?
Unfortunately yes.

But the strangest part?

Sukuna wasn’t an ass about it.

He didn’t call you “brat” anymore.
He started calling you hime.
Princess.

That was…
Weird.
Extremely weird.

Even weirder—he wasn’t ranting about massacres, or power, or slaughter. He just laughed when you tripped or dropped something, but the laughter was almost… fond?

What the hell??

Did he see your memories before you took over Yuji’s body?
Did he witness the hours you spent bingeing JJK edits and TikTok brain-rot clips?

You weren’t sure.

But he didn’t try killing anyone, so you weren’t going to complain.

He even helped you sense cursed energy.
Not on purpose—he just muttered warnings when something powerful drew too close.

Which, honestly?
Lifesaving.

You arrived at your destination—a small Internet café with cramped cubicles that doubled as cheap overnight rooms. You logged into your online classes, knocked out your assignments, and rushed to your first part-time shift at a nearby shrine.

Painting chairs?
Fixing decorations?
Design work?

Easy.
Peaceful.
Way better than being eaten by curses.

You were good at creative stuff in your old life, and apparently this world appreciated it. When you finished, the shrine owner begged you to stay longer. You promised you’d email more designs later.

With the extra pay, you treated yourself:

• chicken nuggets

• new clothes

• hygiene products

• and sushi for Sukuna
  (with wasabi because the demon king apparently loved spicy things)

At some point in the café, his mouth popped up on your cheek again as you sat sketching character concepts.

“What are you drawing, hime?” he asked, voice curious.

You blinked.
Sukuna… curious?
About art???

“This is so different from what I saw in the Heian era,” he mumbled, sounding almost nostalgic.

On impulse, you dipped a chicken nugget in pepper sauce and shoved it into his mouth.

You braced for him to snap at you—
but instead, he licked his lips and demanded more.

“Brother, that sauce is super hot,” you muttered.

“More,” he said.

Fine.
Demon king with the spice tolerance of a death-row chili eater.
Noted.

A week passed.

Your rule was simple:

Stay in one cubicle for a week.
Spend weekends camping outside the city.
Move on.
Never be found.

Summer made it easier.
Less worry about freezing to death.

Sukuna remained strangely cooperative.
He asked questions like a bored kid stranded in a foreign country:

“What is that thing flying?”
“A plane.”
“…What is a plane?”
“Big metal bird transporting stressed salarymen.”
“…Hime, you mock your own people.”
“I know.”

You only fed him in isolated alleys or hidden corners. Anyone seeing a mouth on your cheek would either scream or call the police.

So far, no one had noticed.

You bought sturdier walking shoes and breathable work pants. Packed your things. Ate your onigiri. Brushed pink hair out of your face.

Then you headed to the next town.

Keep moving.
Keep surviving.

Luckily, the curses were tiny in smaller towns.
And whenever a bigger one lurked, Sukuna whispered into your mind, tone sharp:

“Turn left, hime. Now.”

You obeyed.
And you lived.

Somehow.
Some way.
You survived another week in this terrifying world.

The world of Jujutsu Kaisen.

Your new reality.

Your unwanted life.

But you weren’t dead yet.

And for now—
that was enough.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3 – On the Road, 2 Drinks on Way 

The regional train was steady and a bit bumpy, but way better than European transports.Efficient transport. Clean seats. No piss-smelling corners.

Hey, can’t the other so-called “first world” countries be like Japan? Functional transport and clean? Europe and America could never.

You stared in your seat, the bag cracked at your side, and the fizzy cola hit your tongue. You sighed.

Three weeks so far, nothing happened.

You came across a grade 2 curse, and somehow you punched the shit out of it and pulled a Sukuna finger from it before you could throw it away or something the parasite manifested a mouth on your hand and ate it.

Urgh.

Anyway, you didn’t need to swallow it.

But turns out you can channel curse energy now so a bit of a win?

So on train rides, you meditated and tried reducing your curse energy to zero.

Oddly, Sukuna even condescendingly was giving tips: how to breathe, how to summon curse energy from your gut and spread it.

What types of curse techniques there were.

What a domain is.

Which was helpful, since you liked brushing up on the Jujutsu Kaisen world lore.

How to make sure you stayed slow.

Gave you barrier techniques and seals by filling your brain with curse knowledge (it hurts so much).

He even overloaded your brain with barrier knowledge one night—

which left you crying into your pillow because holy shit, curse information felt like someone stabbing you through the skull with a flaming ice pick.

Still. Helpful.

…annoyingly helpful.

Anyways, now the bastard manifested on your cheek and whined:

“Oy, hime, can I have a sip? What is that?”

You sighed.

Looked left to right, no one there. Tilted your head so your cheek faced the train ceiling and poured the last drop of cola from the soda can into the open mouth.

You tilted your head back when you heard Sukuna swallow.

“Why does the drink stab me?”

“It’s carbonated.”

“So it’s a new form of poison?! So humans of the modern era like to poison themselves?!?” Sukuna asked incredulously.

You wanted to cry and laugh too.

Gosh, it’s like babysitting a fucking child.

Oh, God.

You were babysitting a fucking toddler.

A caniball toddler with godlike power with a mqsmassive y count.

You rolled your eyes, rubbed Sukuna’s mouth with your thumb to remove a spray of cola, looking at the window:

“No, no, it’s safe. No poison. Human like bubbles.”

“Hmm… it’s sweet. Is there a salty variant?” Sukuna’s mouth pouted, his singular eye looking at you in the train window.

“Yeah, seltzer. I’ll get you one later.” You turned to some gum and blew a bubble, ejecting a lot.

Your side job was doing a bit of web design for a company, so if you aimed to your next Internet café cubicle to stay, you just needed to do assignments, classes, eat, rest, and meditate.

You unwrapped a stick of spicy-sweet gum, blew a massive bubble, and went back to fixing the CSS layout in your web design assignment.

“Can I have some?” Sukuna asked, appearing again on your other cheek.

You ignored it at first

The he repeated like whiny toddler.

You blew a bubble, loud and obnoxious.

Sukuna popped up again—on your other cheek this time.

“Hiiiime~ Can I have some? It looks fun.”

You ignored him.

“Hiiiiiime. Hime. Hime. Hime. Hime—”

“..." You chew quiet ignore him.

“hiiime can I have some? Looks fun.” Sukuna’s mouth disspeared on one cheek and manifested on your other cheek whining.

You sighed.

Took out your favorite gum, spicy-sweet gum, and shoved it into him.

Watching a disembodied, tattooed demon mouth, chew bubblegum humming was arguably the creepiest thing in existence yet cute and funny. But you’d been desensitized after Week One.

Sukuna tried three times to blow a bubble—failing spectacularly—until finally, a tiny bubble appeared.

Sukuna tried to blow a bubble—

failed.

Tried again—

failed harder.

The third time, he managed a tiny, shaky bubble.

He glanced at you, as if asking for praise His singaukr eyes reflect at the window:" What the point of all fo this hime?"

“Concentration , practice,” you said, clicking through your web design assignment. “And fun. Humans like fun.”

“Ridiculous,” Sukuna sniffed, chewing anyway.

,You shrugged, eyeing the webpage and moving some designs around, fixing text styles and headlines. 

You saw a few smaller curses on the train ground but you looked away another crawled across your front seats looking at you with large eyes

You glared back before looking away whispering.

“Don’t even think about it.”

It hissed softly.

Sukuna’s voice slithered into your head:

“Hime. If that thing jumps, just let me—”

“No,” you whispered firmly. “You already ate one finger this month.”

“Tch. You spoil my fun.”

“Shut up and chew your gum.”

He mumbled something insulted but obeyed.

You turned back to your laptop as the train sped toward your next destination—

Chapter Text

Chapter 4 – The Road Traveled and Kind Strangers

Hosu City wasn’t Tokyo, but it buzzed in its own bright, crowded way—towers of neon, warm street food smells drifting through the air, and a constant electric thrum of life. After securing a large, cheap room in an Internet café (thank God for cities), you settled into your routines: web-design assignments, online classes, meditation, sketching, and occasionally wandering around for inspiration.

You even treated yourself at the arcade, tugging a crank on a gacha machine and miraculously winning an Eevee plushie. Small victory. Huge serotonin.

Money was tight, though, so you picked up odd jobs from an app that specialized in quick, small gigs—“MiniJobs.” Bless whoever invented it.

That’s how you ended up walking through the gates of an old temple on a hill.

A tiny elderly miko greeted you with a warm smile.
“Ah, hello dear! Thank you for accepting. My granddaughter and the others are off helping with a ceremony in Tokyo, so I’m shorthanded.” She bowed. “My name is Minori. Please, come in.”

Inside your head, Sukuna hummed.
“Her curse energy is refined… Iori clan, maybe Kyoshin. But with you suppressing your own, she’ll think you’re a civilian.”

You resisted the urge to sag in relief. Training on trains and buses was paying off.

The temple was enormous—sprawling courtyards, mossy stone guardians, and aging wooden halls that creaked with history. Your tasks ranged from scrubbing floors to dusting shelves of old tomb offerings, straightening talismans, polishing Buddha statues, and pulling stubborn weeds while humming to cheap pop songs.

Sukuna popped out occasionally, whining for snacks like a demonic toddler. You fed him bits of candy or dried fruit only when Minori wasn’t around.

Minori was absurdly kind—during breaks she gave you freshly made onigiri, warm tea, or pickled vegetables. You tried to refuse. She insisted. You accepted like a starving stray.

While cleaning one of the older archive rooms, you found books so ancient the dust was thicker than your palm. You coughed into your mask, brushing them carefully.

“That one,” Sukuna murmured from inside your head, “is a basic manual of barrier techniques from the Heian era.”

You froze.
A what now?

Later that night in your café cubicle, you poured over the photos you had taken. Sukuna criticized your form so often you wanted to throttle him, but after hours of corrections you managed to create your first storage seal—small and simple, but functional.

Suddenly, your bag weighed nothing.

Portable kitchen gadget? Fits easily.

You almost cried from joy.

Over the next three days, you worked your way through the entire archive. Most of it was written in archaic Japanese and barely decipherable, but Sukuna translated while sneering at Google Translate’s incompetence.

You found curse tools, ceremonial bells, old talismans—and a name repeated through the texts:

Iori.

You stopped.
“…Wait. That’s Utahime’s family name.”
Which meant this temple was her clan’s property.
And you’d just spent three days reading their private manuals.

Oops.

Well… it was written in old Japanese. How were you supposed to know?

Minori never mentioned curses. She treated you like an everyday helper. So far, your curse-energy suppression had worked perfectly.

After finishing the archives, another task was assigned: cleaning the old smithy behind the temple.

A smithy.
Of course this temple had one. Why wouldn’t it?

Inside, among rusted tools and soot-coated walls, you found metal ingots stacked neatly in crates and several leather-bound journals filled with forging notes.

Minori peeked in.
“If you want to make something small, feel free. Those ingots are old stock.”

You nodded politely.

Inside your mind, Sukuna cackled.

You… may have grinned a little too widely.

You had ideas—dangerous, creative, and very, very fun ideas.

Chapter Text

 **Chapter 5 – Equip and On My Way

The temple smithy became your personal playground.

During breaks—and whenever Minori wasn’t watching—you forged quietly and quickly, working metal with a steadiness you didn’t know you had. Maybe it was Sukuna guiding your movements in your head, maybe it was muscle memory from Yuji’s body, or maybe you were just that desperate to arm yourself.

By the end of the week, you’d made:

Two rings inscribed with storage seals

• **A hunter’s knife reinforced with simple enchantments

• **A pair of chakrams** etched with barrier-carving lines

• **A daishō set**—two blades linked by a chain, compact but deadly

For the final touches, you waited until Minori’s back was turned and quietly imbued each tool with layers of cursed energy.

You even wove small pieces of the Iori clan’s sound-based techniques—taken from the archived texts—into earrings and discreet jewelry. Those you didn’t show Minori, of course.

You did show her the harmless pieces: simple wristbands, plain rings, a few cute piercings. She squinted, nodded, and said, “Oh, very trendy,” completely unaware she was looking at concealed cursed weaponry.

Your MiniJob at the temple ended quietly. Minori packed you a lovingly prepared bento for the road, patting your hand with grandmotherly warmth.

“Travel safely, dear.”

You bowed deeply. “Thank you for everything.”

Then you left.

---

 On the Train*

You spent the ride finishing the enchantments on your gear, carefully sealing each item with the notes you’d copied from the Iori archives. Curses now avoided you on sight, skittering away like roaches from bright light.

*“Not bad, hime,”* Sukuna mused.

*“Your inscribing doesn’t offend my eyes anymore. Much.”*

You rolled your eyes.

Between online classes, mini freelance jobs, sketching, and babysitting Sukuna, the days slipped by easily.

Your next stop: Hagi

Small population, quiet neighborhoods, famous pottery, free camping spots, and—according to reviews—an Internet café so empty it was practically a private apartment.

You stepped inside the café and chose a small room with a bed and a door that locked. After reinforcing that lock with barrier seals (just in case), you slept like the dead.

Your next MiniJob involved helping a local pottery shop.

Kneading wet clay, spinning it on the wheel, shaping bowls and mugs with smooth, steady pressure—it was meditative. The old craftsman nodded approvingly as you worked.

Other times, you hauled clay blocks back and forth or painted glazes in thin, delicate patterns.

Your hands were always busy. Your mind felt peaceful.

By the third day, you discovered a hidden gem.

A natural hot spring deep in the woods—untouched, steaming quietly, used only by the occasional animal. No footprints. No signs. A secret slice of heaven.

You bathed there every evening.

And trained.

Sukuna critiqued every movement mercilessly.

“That sword slash was pathetic. A bird could knock you over.”

“That chakram throw—truly wretched. Are your wrists made of jelly?”*

You learned faster than you cared to admit.

Your routine settled:

**Morning:** classes

**Midday:** pottery job

**Evening:** soak in the wild hot spring, then curse-technique training

It was peaceful.

Too peaceful.

You ended up staying *three weeks* instead of one. The hot spring was addictive. The town was kind. The jobs were steady.

But the road still called, and you had more to learn, more to find, more curses to avoid or defeat.

Your next destination: **Beppu**.

Famous for its hot springs.

You grinned.

“More baths,” you said aloud.

Sukuna snorted.

“Hime, you’re becoming a spoiled noble.”

“Shut up. Hot water is good for the soul.”

“You humans and your weak flesh…”

But he didn’t argue.

You packed your enchanted tools, tightened your seals, grabbed some snacks, and boarded the train bound for Beppu—

ready for whatever awaited you next.