sometimes I think about sukuna or higuruma or choso or gojo or... well u get the point... I think about them and I'm like: FUUUUCK I really wish a fic like this existed with them on it, then I remember... wait... I literally can write... AND THEN I remember... wait I actually can't write for my life đ like yeah I can but not really... and it hurts... (not really I'm just dramatizing everything)
* Ë âŠ hate fucking fratboy sukuna (playboy!sukuna x cheater!reader) 18+
"you have a fucking what?" sukuna spits venom across your apartment, the veins in his fists bulging under his skin as he balls them into tight, trembling fists.
safe to say, ryomenâs pissed off. but you? youâre laid back against the leather couch, leisurely scrolling through your phone.
"a boyfriend."
to be fair, you were under the impression that he knew he was just a side piece. hm. not your fault he didnât catch on to your very obvious signs until after he caught feelings.
last night marked the end of finals, so a rager was obviously the next order of business for the students of jujutsu tech.
you attended with your man, higuruma, who had no idea there was a six-foot-seven, tatted up, jacked monster staring holes through the side of his head from the kitchen.
"why the hell are you ogling [name]âs boyfriend like that, man? you look like a fucking homo." toji had teased him that night, words that were met with a jab to the gut as the pink-haired idiot shot to his feet and stalked straight up the spiraling frat staircase.
"why didnât you tell me? iâm not into the whole cuck thing, [name]!" he seethes, stomping up to you in utter disbelief.
"i donât understand why youâre so pissed. this was purely sex, sukuna." you gesture in between the two of you with a floppy finger. "itâs not like i cheated on you, so why do you give a fuck?" you ask, obviously not taking this as seriously as he is.
sukuna was a cool guy. he was the vice president of the schoolâs most notorious frat, the basketball teamâs star player, and the hottest thing to come out since han solo, in his very humble opinion.
so you were right. why did he give a fuck? why did he care that some chick heâd been banging had a man? why did he care that a girl he was seeing didnât reciprocate the same blossoming feelings of affection heâd never felt in his entire life until now? why?
"oh, fuck you, [name]. youâre a horrible fucking person." he snaps, trying so hard to seem like he doesnât care, a sliver of nonchalance floating into his speech.
"and youâre some saint? what about that girl from alpha phi last year, huh? what about her?" you laugh, knowing the age-old rumors of him supposedly assaulting the girl would really get him going.
"donât fucking say that! you know damn well i didnât do shit to that lying bitch." he growls, nonchalance gone, now quite literally about to burst.
and you know heâs right, but itâs always so intoxicatingly funny watching him go all red in the face. probably also one of the reasons you kept him around this long.
"iâm just saying. youâve got some big perfect version of me in your head, and iâm here to tell you thatâs just not the case." you drag on, looking him dead in the eye as you smile with your next confession.
"youâre nothing more than a sex doll to me, sorry."
after your little confrontation, he stormed out so quickly you couldnât even offer breakup sex. would he have taken the offer? no. he was a bonehead at the best of times, but not even you could sway him when he was in one of those moods. it would have served as a further tease, that was all.
youâd always been okay with everyone on campus, with no over-the-top scandals or college fallouts. sure, you were cheating on your boyfriend hiromi, but if you could turn a blind eye to 'shimizu' in his phone, he could let this slide if he were to ever find out. he was more of a publicity thing anyways, if anything.
other than that, you were thriving. everyone liked you, and on the surface? you liked everyone else too.
but under all of that shiny glaze was a certified man-hating schemer, one that had successfully sunken her teeth into jujutsu universities most renowned playboy, ryomen sukuna. go you.
he was the whole nine yards, really. his frat was well known for being sleazy, with each of the boysâ body counts easily exceeding the hundreds. gojo was the worst when it came to accusations, with hazing rumors and multiple disorderly conduct charges tucked under his belt. but your friends-with-benefits partner was a very close runner-up.
sukuna was the kind of guy whoâd have one girl from alpha phi at nine, then party hop and screw another from gamma at twelve. watching the two chicks fight and turn against each other in the hallway the next morning gave him the most exhilarating high.
it was clear he thrived off of discourse.
that was, of course, until he discovered you.
you were so unfairly calm compared to the hectic lifestyle he led. you were friends with good people, intelligent, answered all the lecturersâ questions without seeming weird or nerdy in your joint classes. and to top it all off, you were absolutely stunning.
with normalcy being a foreign concept to him, you intrigued ryomen to no end.
he was clearly into you if the constant staring from the back of the lecture hall wasn't obvious enough. and one day, he finally plucked up the courage to talk to you at a charity event some sorority across campus was hosting.
heâd meant for the meeting to result in something a little more than a hookup. hell, maybe even a date if he played his cards right. alas, all that came from his awkward first conversation with you that day was a night full of, admittedly, amazing sex.
and it just never changed.
every time there was a get-together, every time there was a party or a function, the night would end with the two of you scurrying off to fuck like bunnies.
he had a high libido, and you, even more so. one fuled with the need to be better than the guy who thought he was the shit. it was a good arrangement, all things considered.
higuruma didn't really like parties, he'd much rather stay back in the library and study for the bar with shimizu or whatever his excuse to bone her was. so it was free reign for you. sukuna stayed oblivious to the fact due to your instagram featuring exactly none of hiromi, and he had no mutual friends with you that could tell him about the hook-nosed man.
and things went well like this for ages, maybe two months.
until, sukuna started thinking long and hard about his feelings and where he stood with you, the captivating girl heâd decided he wanted more than a friends-with-benefits situation with.
after some soul-searching, he hatched a plan to bag the goods.
1: drop the other girls he was seeing.
he couldnât say he was in love with a girl and then also be fucking five of her friends. even he could see that was kinda fucked.
2: dial back the crazy sex and focus on making you feel appreciated.
youâd both agreed rough sex was high on the cards for both of you, but sukuna knew that constant pussy pounding wouldnât make him seem like the loving type. no, surely not. so he made an effort to slow his thrusts, to kiss your lips instead of biting your neck, and to eat you out first before slamming into you. very gentlemanly.
3: work on himself.
he knew he was a messed up guy. a step in the right direction to getting the girl of his dreams would be to first, fix himself. he started smoking less, going to the gym more often, spending time with is friends. this one was the hardest, but he did try.
and 4: pluck up the courage to finally confess.
yes, the final step in his foolproof plan was to ask you about your feelings and, in turn, tell you his.
and to be fair, his plan was going great up until that last step. he got to your apartment, and before you could pounce, he popped the question.
"[name], what do you think about, like⊠a relationship?"
"what, like with you and me?"
"obviously."
...
"i have a boyfriend."
silence.
"you have a fucking what?"
~
sukuna didnât tell anyone about your now-severed arrangement, nor that you were cheating on your boyfriend with him.
i mean, itâs not like he had any proof anyway.
with other girls, he had no issue filming or snapping pics of the sex for future jerk-offs, but for some reason, he just couldnât bring himself to with you. maybe itâs because he saw you as an actual person with autonomy or something, as fucked up as that sounds. oh, how he regretted having humility now.
so no, exposing you wasnât on the table no matter how desperately he wanted to ruin your life, he didnât have any hard evidence and you definitely wouldnât just bend over and admit it.
so heâs left sitting here stewing at the next function, eyeing you from across the room as you dance and grind up on higuruma.
"fucking women," he mutters to himself, skulling half his drink and letting out a groan as he pulls the bottle away from his lips.
"mhm, hate those whores." naoya suddenly appears beside him, plopping down onto the leather like theyâve been best friends for years, despite sukuna rocking his shit just two months ago for touching up an underaged freshman.
the tatted man has to bite his tongue and get up. heâs mad, maybe even jealous, but not talk-about-screwing-with-women-for-fun mad. that was reserved for zenin and his fucked-up frat.
"rude motherfucker," the pierced misogynist scoffs.
sukuna only throws a finger over his shoulder and makes a beeline for the stairs.
you, on the other hand, are having a fantastic night.
from your spot across the way, seeing sukuna storm out after catching a glimpse of you and higuruma drives you crazy with enthrallment. never in your life have you been so eager to screw around with someone more than right now.
his little tantrum in your apartment was fresh in your brain, you just couldn't get enough of that pissed off expression after you'd told him the truth of your arrangement.
you desperately wanted to see it again.
"hiro, iâll be back. just gotta take a breather." you flutter up at your perfect little boyfriend, and he nods and smiles like a well-trained dog.
you follow in sukunaâs footsteps, aiming to catch him by surprise on the way to his room, the one you knew all too well.
his bedroom door swings open with a violent shove, the wood smacking against the rubber stopper. he stalks inside without looking back with his shoulders slumped and his hands itching for a cigarette.
you slip in right on behind him.
"you're awfully quiet tonight ,ryo."
the rate in which he whips his head around mid sentence is impressive. "what the fuck are youâ"
you lift a finger and press it to his red lips.
"shh."
it's so casual.. it would feel like sweet, like one of those affectionate gestures he'd stupidly gotten used to with you if you hadn't broken his heart just a few days ago.
he can't stop himself from freezing at the contact, his ruby red eyes becoming slitted and cutting through the fury etched into his face. you take full advantage of his stunned state, and you pull your phone out.
and you snort.
"oh my god," you smile between giggles, opening the camera. "i need to keep that look somehow. itâs so fucking funny."
you lean back a little to get him in frame chocking back laughter as you paparazzi the guy. "hold on, donât move. you look so pathetic right now."
that just about does it.
his hand shoots out and the phone is gone from your grip in an instant. he tosses it onto his bed without even glancing, the device bouncing once against the sheets.
"are you out of your fucking mind?" he demands.
before you can answer, his fingers clasp dangerously around your wrist, tight.
he yanks you forward and pivots, slamming you back against the wall beside his closet with a loud smash.
his arm cages you in as your poor back hits solid plaster. he's so close to you that the vein popping out of his head looks like it's pulsating.
"you think this is a joke?" he spits. "you think iâm some fucking circus act for you to sit around and laugh at?"
you try so hard not to grin, you really do...
"you kind of are," you admit, your lips itching up.
his grip tightens further around your wrist. "i hate you."
"aw, no you donât."
"i donât wanna fucking see you again."
"mm, thatâs a lie too."
he looks like he's about to implode with sheer anger, "youâre so fucking annoying. you come in here, shove your phone in my face, laugh at meâ"
"oh, c'mon. you made a big song and dance about storming up here" you interrupt lightly. "i just followed. donât act like you didnât want me to."
his stare sharpens. "i didnât."
you flutter your eyes up at him sweetly. "oh, but i bet you're glad i did. did y' miss me?"
that shuts him up for a second and you press your luck.
"y'know, itâs not my fault." you murmur thoughtfully, "not my fault the big, bad, scary sukuna caught a crush on little old me."
oh he looks feral. you keep on pushing, though.
"what did you expect, honestly? that iâd hear you say relationship and just drop to my knees and thank you for the honor?"
his hand shifts from your wrist to the wall beside your head, palm flat against it.
"shut up."
"youâre the one who wanted to talk about feelings," you say, shrugging as much as you can with him crowding you. "i was perfectly happy with the arrangement."
his eyes narrow further. "yeah. i noticed."
you smile cheekily.
"hey, it's okay. donât act embarrassed now." you tease. "it's fine that you wanted to play house all of a sudden. kissing instead of biting n' going all gentle." you let the word drag out so he could relive every night he decided to do things vanilla. "it was weird, sure. but i didn't mind."
his teeth grit. "i was trying to treat you right."
"why?"
that question pummels into his psyche harder than the incessant teasing, and for a second he actually looks thrown.
you lean closer, lowering your voice. "why would you try n' treat me right? you can't even treat yourself right."
"fuck you."
"you wanted me to like you," you continue, ignoring him. "thatâs cute. really. you thought if you stopped fucking other girls and started working on yourself, iâd magically see you as boyfriend material."
his hand moves from the wall to your waist, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.
"i said shut up."
you laugh under your breath. "aw. hit a nerve?"
he leans in closer, foreheads nearly touching now.
"you donât get to stand there and talk down to me," he growls. "you donât get to act superior just because you decided to be a bitch and play me."
"play you?" you echo. "i never lied to you. you just filled in blanks i never promised to fill. doesn't feel too good getting manipulated to someone else's agenda, does it? this is just good karma for all the girls you've ruined."
his complete and utter silence tells you that one really stung.
you soften your tone just enough to make it worse. "you built this whole version of me up in your head. you think i'm sweet, exclusive, just waiting around for you to finally pick me."
your smile sharpens again. "thatâs on you."
his chest rises and falls hard. he looks furious, humiliated, and you love it.
"you think youâre better than me."
you hum. "i think iâm smarter than you."
that earns you a sharp shove back against the wall.
"you donât get to mock me for feeling this shit for you, so what i wanted to do something good with my life, what the fuck is wrong with that?" he seethes.
you shrug again. "iâm not mocking you for feeling something, it's just funny that you think i owed you the same in return."
he studies you for a long second.
you can practically see it happening, the way your words wind him up so much tighter, the way heâs fighting between shoving you away and pulling you closer.
his stare burns into you, and you can feel the absolute anger radiating off him.
"i donât want you," he says through his teeth.
"then why are you still holding me?"
"fuck you."
"i wish you would."
and with a sigh as to say, 'fuck it', he smashes his lips against yours in the hardest, deepest kiss you'd ever recieved from the man.
his hand leaves the wall and grips you tightly, shoving you harshly off of the plaster and you stumble back a step before he advances again, forcing you toward the bed.
"you think this is funny?" he demands, voice rough and course with anger.
you can only cheese in response and that seems to piss him off ten times as much.
he grabs you by the waist and tosses you onto the mattress like a ragdoll. you bounce once against the sheets n' heâs already climbing over you before you can even try to prop yourself up on your elbows.
"you want it rough," he mutters, bracing both your wrists above your head with one hand. "i'll give you rough, slut."
that definitely did what he'd hoped it would.
he kisses you in that disgustingly possessive way again, biting at your bottom lip and wedging his knee rough up into the space between your thighs. you let out a hmph that's shortly followed by a light slap to the side of your hip.
"shut the fuck up. you wanted this shit, take it like a champ." he growls, then resumes attacking your neck with deep bites.
you wriggle your hands free from his grasp, then grab at his shirt, fisting the fabric and pulling him closer instead of pushing him away like you probably should.
he makes a low, irritated sound when you nip at his bottom lip like he'd been doing.
"donât," he warns.
but you do it again.
his hands slide down your sides now, gripping you tight at your hips. he kisses you far harder, far deeper, tilting his head to take more of you away, to take control back.
you arch up into him deliberately, then whisper, "thought you didnât want me," against his mouth.
"shut up."
his hands fly to your shirt, ripping it up and over your head like a piece of rag, and you help him toss it to the floor.
you, in turn, tug off his shirt and scrape your nails down his now bare chest.
he exhales sharply through his nose and grabs your wrists for half a second, pinning them above your head once more.
"listen to me," he says.
you fake a yawn in reply.
he takes his free hand and squeezes your face, forcing you to look at him. "you're gonna take this shit like a good girl, and if you act like a brat, i'll fuck you five times harder. got it?"
you nod, albeit sloppily.
"good."
you use the moment to hook your leg around his waist and flip the balance just enough to make him adjust. your hands then slide free and you push at his shoulders, forcing him to shift so you can finally get at his belt.
"impatient little thing," he mutters.
"mm, fuck you." you grin, knowing it'll be met with a slap! to the ass.
"you're really asking for it." he warns, hiking up your skirt and slipping off your panties with urgency, huffing lowly as he catches a glimpse of the slick already pooling in the fabric. "pretty fucking wet for someone so high and mighty."
you suppress a moan as his fingers begin to circle your clit, "you won't do shit." you test. and just like that, his patience finally runs thin.
"oh yeah?"
you regret saying that... well, sort of. because now, all 8 inches of him is pumping in and out of your soaked cunt with a pace so maddening you start seeing stars within the first minute.
"o-oh- fuckk, slow down... please, slow down!" you plea, but the tatted man just laughs in between huffs, groaning triumphantly as he feels you squeeze him tighter and tighter with each tantalising drag.
"nah, you âfuuuckâ you take this fucking cock like you oh so desperately wanted to." he pounds you deeper with each word.
"you wan' us to stay fuck buddies? fine. then take this cock however the fuck i decide to give it to you, slut âhahâ" he taunts, watching maniacally as your body gyrates beneath him from the force in which he was fucking you.
it's too much. he's got a hand on your throat now, holding you down tight so he can properly reach every part of your cunt. his others holding your legs wiiide open, pulling you onto him deeper earning him the most desperate little whimpers.
"my god, that's right, let me hear how fucking pathetic you turn for some good dick. jesus christ- wanna play around with me? this is how it'll turn out for you. every. single. time." he slams into you hard with those last words. really hammering home the message.
he's gone crazy, fucking into you so rough you don't even know what to do with yourself. you're reduced to a puddle of moaning, babbling mess, swimming in the ecstasy that was ryomen sukuna and his monster cock.
if you knew rejecting him so hard would get you dicked down this good in some big, roundabout way, you would of done it ages ago.
he puts you in a plethora of positions, flipping and tossing you around like you weigh nothing, each position more hard hitting than the last.
"f-fuck, right there! ryo! m' gonna-"
"r-r-ryo!" he mocked, laughing evilly as he pushes down on your tummy to really make you feel it. "yr' gonna cum, huh? gonna cum on my dick like a good girl? that's fucking right, cum on my cock, baby." he smiles through gritted teeth, pumping faster and faster trying his best to make this orgasm rip through you like a tidal wave.
after all, he needed to give you one good reason to keep coming back after all of this bullshit.
you feel that coil in your stomach pull tighter and tighter, until finally with one last thrust, you're coming undone all over sukuna's throbbing, spewing cock.
"oh god, that's it." he moans, spilling into you with hot, thick ropes of cum.
~
after things cool off, heâs on top of you staring down and examining like heâs trying to decide if heâs satisfied or still mad.
âyou done proving a point?â you mutter softly, tired.
he exhales through his nose, rolling off you and onto his back. one arm comes up behind his head, the other falls over his stomach, âdonât start,â he says.
you shift onto your side to look at him but he wonât meet your eyes at first.
âso what,â you press, propping your chin on your palm. âthat was your big revenge plan? fuck me insaneo style and expect our little arrangement to go back to normal.â
he shoots you a pretty annoyed look. âyou think everythingâs a joke.â
âwell, most things are.â
he goes a little soft for a sec then more serious than heâs been all night, âi meant what i said.â
you donât play dumb, you know which part. âabout hating me?â you try, even though you know that's not it.
âabout wanting you.â
hm.
he finally turns his head to look at you without the pent up rage and without the crazy ego.
âi donât want to be some fucking side piece,â he says flatly. âi donât want to be the guy you sneak around with when your boyfriendâs busy.â
you arch a brow. âyou were fine with it before.â
âi wasnât,â he corrects. âi just didnât know better., i haven't done this shit beforeâ
âand what,â you ask lightly, though your tone isnât as sharp as before. âyouâre suddenly boyfriend material?â
âif thatâs what it takes, i'll try my best to be that for you.â
okay, maybe he was growing on you.
âi dropped the other girls,â he adds. âi meant that too.â
you hum softly. âand if i break up with higuruma?â
âthen iâm all in,â he says immediately.
âyouâre willing to put in the effort?â
âyes.â
âeven when iâm being annoying?â
âyouâre always annoying.â
you grin. âanswer the question.â
he sighs. âyes. even then.â
you roll onto your back, staring up at the ceiling.
âi might break up with him,â you say casually, like youâre commenting on the weather. âif youâre really serious.â
he pushes up onto one elbow instantly. âdonât say shit like that unless you mean it.â
you glance over at him, amused. âi do.â
âthen do it.â
"i will. gotta give it time, though."
he shakes his head, but thereâs no malice anymore.
you sit up, dragging the sheet around yourself.
âbesides,â you add with a sly smile, âitâd be kind of a waste to let sex like that go to waste.â
he stares contemplatively at you for a bit before a reluctant smirk itches at his mouth.
âthat the only reason?â
you shrug. âitâs a strong selling point.â
"you're such a brat." he sighs.
"mhm, love you too."
"what!?"
from i hate you to i love you in two hours, he was in for a long ride.
apart of @dollhousesinner one night event! the night he finds out, and the night you become more than just fuck buddies đ also this request !
pale visitor!sukuna x survivor!reader
'no, i'm not a human' AU
âŁïž part 1 ⶠpart 2 series masterlist
SYNOPSIS: Stay inside. Lock your doors. Close your blinds. Only let humans in and eliminate all visitors. When the apocalypse happened, the rules seemed simple- but as the nights tick by, you find yourself scrambling to survive. And every time you turn him away, you're left questioning how much you really know about yourself and this new world.
WARNINGS: dead dove- post-apocalyptic au, descriptions of death & violence, blood, guns, unreliable narrator, somewhat follows the gameplay/dialogue of no, i'm not a human, strong language, extreme guilt/shame, emotional conflict, emotional manipulation, depression, anxiety & paranoia, strangers/enemies to lovers, eventual smut -> dub-con, true-form sukuna; more tags to be added
A/N: art creds @/decay_int on insta & x, other images from NINAH gameplay.
You hardly believed it when your neighbor came by, rambling on about how "something was coming."
He couldn't provide many more details than that, just eerie warnings about the sun exploding and 'visitors' crawling up and out of the ground. You dismissed it as the paranoid delusions of a survivalist who'd done nothing but think about the apocalypse for years. You always thought he was a bit odd, but as far as neighbors go, he was far from the worst.
So you listened. You let him go on and on about his theories and everything he'd heard from his friends, his cousins, anyone he could get to talk to him about it. You nodded along, gave an "ooh" and an "aah" every couple of lines to show that you were paying attention.
He offered advice that you thought you'd never seriously need, but he insisted you internalize it. Advice on how to survive in whatever would become of the world, how to keep yourself not just alive but human, in a time when those around you might be anything but.
TV and radio are good for the newsâ but neither is better than the information you can collect with your own two eyes. Stock up on food and keep important phone numbers on hand. Rest when you can because preserving energy is crucial, and you never know when you'll find yourself needing it. Lastly, it's good to be skeptical, but be careful toeing the line between skepticism and paranoia. Your neighbor urged, implored even, that you don't let yourself succumb to your inevitable spiraling thoughts.
It may feel like isolating yourself is the best move. After all, most think that you won't get harmed, betrayed, killed, if you're alone. But having company may just be the one thing that saves you.
When you crawled into bed after his visit, you laughed to yourself about how serious he was, about how improbable an apocalypse was. You were tucked under the covers, blissfully unaware that it was both the last time you'd get a full night's rest and the last time that you'd see the sun.
But you had to hand it to your neighborâ he knew his shit. He didn't let anyone's judgment or mockery sway him, and when you turned on the news the next morning, you felt a whole lot more grateful to know him.
He was right about everything.
Reporters on every channel were covering the same story. News outlets not just in your city, state, country, but all around the whole world, were providing everyone with the same information.
Scientists recorded a massive solar flare, larger than anything that could have been predicted, and the cause was unknown. But as a result, it was no longer possible to go outside during the day. Global temperatures reaching a record high and still rising, they advised everyone to not only stay indoors during the day, but to keep the curtains shut, or even better, board up their windows.
Because the sun and the heat weren't the only things that were threatening to creep into your home. Reports of human-like creatures crawling out from the dirt spread like wildfire.
It was a little unbelievable just how accurate your neighbor had been with his intel, but you hardly had room to complain. You were able to keep your panic at bay knowing that you were at least somewhat mentally prepared for all of this.
You moved quickly, using whatever you could to cover the windows and barricade the doors until your house was shrouded in darkness, eerily silent. You'd repeat your neighbor's words in your mind, over and over, they served as a distraction when you felt the claws of anxiety starting to dig into you.
You clung tight to the counsel he offered you before everything went to shit, treating his word as gospel. Well, most of it.
You were still alone.
The first few days, your mind was only able to focus on the present, taking things one step at a time lest you collapse into a depression. You'd lost the daylight, the inexplicable catastrophe creating a world where you had to hide inside while the sun shone, careful not to catch a glimpse past your curtains.
It was difficult, your daily routine not just being flipped upside down, but disintegrating completely. You wandered aimlessly up and down your hall, fighting the urge to look out the windows during the day.
No one alive really knew what it was like outside from the hours of 7:00 am to 7:00 pm. Anyone foolish enough to chance a look, or worse yet, leave their house, was left with their eyes scarred and blind, their beings reduced to ash. You could only speculate that they were met with a blazing white heat, too bright for our sensitive human eyes, too hot for our soft flesh.
So you resisted the urge and just plopped yourself down on the couch instead, letting your thoughts run wild. You thought about how in just a day, Earth was flipped on its axis.
Around the world, lives were taken, and if not, they were left in ruins. Money no longer meant anything, nor did the previously commonplace rules of society.
You thought about the stories of families turning on one another, with shoddy alliances being formed instead. Relationships were held together by mere necessity, and once someone outlived their usefulness, you couldn't predict what would become of them.
But you also thought about how, in a way, you were lucky.
You lived alone in the countryside, just outside the city, which meant that when things were in chaos miles away, it remained relatively quiet for you. You had time to prepare. Barricading the doors and windows, ensuring your backup generator was working properly, and stocking up on food and water.
Others were left scrambling, trying to create a place for themselves in this new era even though the last one was already much too crowded for them. You heard it all on the newsâ bodies turning up at alarming rates, friends attacking one another out of desperation, suspicion, individuals finding themselves homeless after their apartments became a cesspool of bloodshed.
And you knew they weren't exaggerating. Not when you started getting knocks on your door in the middle of the nightâ the only time that humans and those alike could move freely anymore.
You were too scared at first to let them in. Keeping the door blocked and shouting through the worn wood that they ought to move on to the next house if they knew what was best for them.
But your neighbors words would ring out through your mind each time you turned someone away. You couldn't completely ignore the urgency in his voice when he told you not to stay home alone.
You were never one who particularly enjoyed keeping company, and you much less enjoyed it during the apocalypse when everyone seemed to be losing their senses. Not to mention the fact that any one of them could be a visitor, and it would be up to you to figure out who. So days went by and you remained by yourself, your house empty and quiet.
It was foolish to think that you'd be able to ride out this catastrophe all on your own.
You see that now.
This morning, you'd woken up and crawled out of bed like every other time, getting ready to survive another pointless night. Sometimes, you found yourself wondering why you kept trying so hard, why you felt a life like this was even worth it.
But truthfully, you just hope that things will get better. You know the government is still active, some jobs are still being done. So, you hold out hope that eventually society will rebuild itself at some point during your lifetime.
You'd trudged down the hallway as you always did, towards the kitchen for breakfastâ if it could even be called that at 8:00 pm. You'd checked the windows, a new habit, pulling the curtains aside to peer out through the dusty glass with your own two eyes.
Your fingers gripped the moth-eaten fabric, tugging gently to expose the view to your tired eyes. You expected the same scene as always. The drooping, scorched skeleton of what was once a fruitful wheat field and a beaten-down path leading off towards the city.
Much like your home, the scene was always empty, always quiet.
The view outside your house causes you to still, your body rigid and muscles tense while you let out a shaky breath. Silently, you urge yourself to shut the curtains and replace the wooden planks you'd just taken off the other day, to push the couch across the front door again. You tell yourself to just move.
But you can't. Frozen, you remain glued to your spot, eyes locked on the figure standing just a few meters from your window.
He's tall, unnaturally so, and broad. He's clearly strong in a way that makes you question whether wooden planks would even be sufficient protection should he wish to enter your home.
Intricate black tattoos decorate his pale skin. But those aren't even the most eye-catching things about him. You can see them from where you standâ the deformities. Four muscular arms protrude from his torso and there's a hardened mask that covers half of his face. His skin rippling oddly, like it doesn't fit him properly, you can see that little about him is human.
From where you are, you can tell he's staring right at you. The weight of his gaze sends shivers running down your spine, bringing goosebumps to your skin because you can feel it boring into you.
You no longer want to be alone.
With trembling hands you draw the curtain shut and turn until your back is against the wall, legs buckling as you slide down to the floor.
Knees pulled into your chest, your forehead rests upon them, your back rising and falling rapidly with each too-small breath that you take. Not enough air is filling your lungs as an overwhelming feeling of dread courses through your veins, being pumped to each and every part of your body and leaving your chest tight.
You don't want to check if he's still there. You think you know the answer anyways.
You're not sure how much time passes while you're there, sitting on the dusty hardwood with your face tucked away. But you don't move until the trembling subsides, until there's oxygen flowing into your lungs once more and you can finally think straight.
Only then do you rise to your feet, smoothing down your pants as you take one more steadying breath. Because hiding away and panicking on the floor will do nothing to help you, that much you're sure of.
It's unclear what exactly he wants. He's obviously different from the visitors that have been mentioned on the news which were described as creatures that looked and acted just like humans.
The most rational assumption is that he wants to kill you, of course, but then you're not sure why he didn't. Instead he just stood there, waiting and watching without moving a limb.
Ultimately, you suppose it doesn't matter. For whatever reason, he's still outside and you're still insideâ alive. And you know now that it's time to follow that last piece of advice that you've been ignoring.
As if on cue, the knocking comes.
Three short raps on the door. Once irritating, the sound now comes with a wave of relief as you move to look through the peep hole.
You let them in that night, two of the three people who found themselves on your front porch. You talked to them as much as you could through the door, tried to vet them as visitors and see if their stories were suspicious or inconsistentâ but there was only so much you could do without first letting them in.
Tomorrow, you'd have to test them for signs of being a visitor. There was information on the TV about some things you can do to check if someone's a visitor, but to be honest, you were skeptical about them.
On the first report, they had talked about 'perfect white teeth' being a sign, but their theory had only been corroborated by one story before they were broadcasting it all over the news. You're no scientist, but the confidence with which they were spreading this information had you very skeptical.
Not to mention, what if someone had just been to the dentist? What if they had really white veneers? Or used a lot of whitening strips before the whole world fell apart?
The other signs weren't solid either.
Red eyes? They claimed that visitors were more sensitive to the sunlight, which may be true, but aren't humans sensitive enough? And as if everyone hasn't been crying, wired off energy drinks, or high out of their minds lately.
Dirt under the fingernails? That was supposed to tell you if they'd recently climbed up out of the ground, and you couldn't help but roll your eyes and scoff at the TV when they said that. If a visitor crawled out of the ground, then all they'd have to do to cover their tracks was find a working sink and get to scrubbing. Also, it's the apocalypse. Chances are pretty fucking high that there's regular humans out there that haven't been able to keep up with their hygiene and have dirty hands because of it.
You sigh, a hand coming to pinch the bridge of your nose in an attempt to ease the throbbing between your eyes. Aside from the death and destruction that only seemed to worsen with each passing day, you were starting to find the most stressful thing about this whole catastrophe to be the uncertainty.
Each day it felt like you had more information forced down your throat, and with each addition you were left feeling like you knew less than before. Everything was said with utter conviction, despite the fact that it never made that much senseâ sometimes completely contradicting something you'd heard another day.
It's exhausting, feeling like you're stuck in limbo, trapped in some middle ground where you're fighting to find any sort of footing.
And the worst of it was FEMA. The new Federal Emergency Management Agency.
They're the ones peddling all these theories about visitors, always urging viewers to "help their cause," though you have a feeling they don't even know what that cause is.
They talk about how they're conducting research on visitors. And despite the fact that they go door to door abducting people from homes to "experiment," you feel like they've collected no concrete evidence. But of course, they act like they have.
They claim they're eliminating visitors, using those "signs" to identify themâ as if those really mean anythingâ when you know the truth. You heard it from your neighbor, the way FEMA has started rounding up whoever they can, dragging them out to the country and just shooting. Unloading clip after clip into the crowd until everyone's laid out on the ground, lifeless or almost there, their bodies resting until the sun takes what's left of them.
That doesn't quite seem like something one would do if they had a way to pick out the imposters.
This whole epidemic shows no signs of stopping, and quite frankly you'd rather that they just be honest about the gravity of the situation. Instead, they're still pretending that they have shit under control when it's clear that they don't.
The pounding in your head only gets worse with each uncontrollable thought. Still, you hope you're at least able to get a couple hours of sleep before the sun rises as you climb into bed, ready for a night of tossing and turning.
At least your guests were quiet. Without the energy to test them tonight, you let them take up residence in different rooms in the house before locking yourself in your bedroomâ you can only hope everyone is still alive when you wake up in the morning.
The house stands still, you can hear the wind whistling outside, an owl somewhere in the distance.
And the next morning, you receive the first piece of information since the cataclysm that feels certain. The bug-eyed reporter's confirmation of a gut feeling that you haven't been able to shake since you let the curtain fall last night.
"âŠif you see this man, do not open your door. Do not tell him that you are alone."
He's there, on the TV screen.
The man they're calling the "pale maniac." A shoddy police sketch version of him, sure, but it's all there. The piercing stare, disfigured face and ornate tattoos, more limbs than what's normalâ a graphite representation of eye witness testimonies.
Sukuna:
It's all a giant, steaming pile of bullshit. That was Sukuna's first thought when he saw the news report alleging that there was a solar flare and people were crawling out from the ground.
That's what news reporters did, they hyped up things to be more exciting than they really were, because otherwise no one would care to watch. So surely, this whole fiasco was being blown out of proportion. He was certain that he'd go to sleep, wake up the next day and see people still able to go about their daily lives.
He's never been more wrong in his life.
Sukuna doesn't even make it until the morning, woken up in the middle of the night by the screaming. A raucous, piercing sound spilling through his too-thin walls from the apartment beside him. Curious as he is, he doesn't move, doesn't make for the door to see what's going on or if everyone's alright.
Would another person check in on their neighbors if they heard what he did? Probably. But Sukuna isn't that kind of person.
He's never been the neighborly type. He keeps to his ownâ goes to work, the gym, back home, repeat. In all honesty, Sukuna thinks if he shows up next door, whoever is there might end up even more scared. He knows he doesn't have the most approachable appearance, and judging by the old types he's seen around the building, they'd probably shit their pants if someone like him just popped up in their doorway.
So he stays put. With his eyes shut and ears straining, he's able to pick up on a few words here and there underneath all the shouting.
âŠdead nowâŠ
âŠhad toâŠ
âŠvisitorâŠ
His brain is working overdrive to piece together the rest of the puzzleâ though his gut is already telling him the situation.
Either the news is true and there was one of these "visitors" next door, or these reports have gotten everyone jumpy and paranoid, leading to an accidental death.
Sukuna wonders if this has happened anywhere else. Surely, it has. And considering that it's been less than 12 hours since the first report aired, he can only imagine how much worse things are going to get if this situation doesn't slow down.
He supposes that even if the news are exaggerating, it might still be best to lock himself inside his apartment for a while. Slinking to the kitchen, Sukuna opens the fridge and pantry to take stock of his food situationâ he can afford to stay home for a few days at least, before he'll have to get some more groceries.
Perhaps by then things will have settled down.
Sukuna tries to reason with himself, tries to get the rest of his body to believe his brain when it says that everything is going to be fine. But the muffled sobbing that's replaced the screaming, coupled with the ringing in his ears and the shaking in his hands betray him.
They betray the fact that, ultimately, he can't ignore the feeling that this is just the beginning.
Sukuna doesn't sleep the rest of the night. Just sits alone in his apartment with the lights low, the TV playing in the background with endless news reports on the global crisis. He's tried to call peopleâ Choso, Yuuji, Toji, even Satoruâ but he hasn't heard back from anyone.
Before too long he's ripped from his worrying thoughts by incessant knocking on his door.
He tries to ignore it, thinking that whoever it is might just go away. But when it becomes clear that they plan on sticking around until he answers, Sukuna sighs, stretching as he stands before making his way to the front and peering through the peep hole.
It's an elderly couple, their eyes darting around, huddled close to one another.
"The fuck you guys want?" Sukuna barks through the door, trying to ignore the slight pang in his chest when he sees the woman flinch at his harsh tone. But a slight pang is all it is.
Maybe he should feel worse, be a little more compassionateâ but he's having a hard time finding it in himself to care about that right now. With all the shit he's seen on the news as the night trudged on and the chaos he can hear from the streets below his window, Sukuna's certain that it can't hurt to be a bit more jaded.
Plus, he's seen enough zombie movies to know how things end when you're too trusting during the apocalypse, and this is starting to feel like an apocalypse.
Satoru was always pushing those films on them. Sukuna remembers the way his eyes would light up at any mention of zombies or anything of the sort, always looking for an excuse to talk about his hyper-fixation. The white-haired man had some sort of affinity toward the topic. Not exactly in the way that preppers didâ Sukuna was almost certain that Satoru had no real plans for how to deal with a disaster like thisâ he just loved to talk about different theories he had, usually theories that he came up with after watching another movie.
Sukuna wonders where Satoru is right now. Thoughts drifting from the couple on the other side of the door as he holds his phone out once more, a frown tugging at his lips at the sight of the empty screen. He's sent so many texts already, to the whole group. Some delivered, some didn't. Though he supposes that just because a text was delivered, that doesn't mean someone will actually see it.
"Please sir, we've got no where else to go." The old woman's voice is small through the door, weariness laced in her tone as she pleads with Sukuna one last time. "We'll only stay a couple days, then we'll be out of your hair. We're just tired and need a place to sleep."
He has to say no. Or he thinks he does. Too scared to say yes but even more scared to admit to himself that he really doesn't know what to do. Stuck in a world he hadn't believed possible and faced with dilemmas he'd only heard of in fiction, the current situation is leaving his mind racing and his back sweating.
And even with all the unexpected circumstances, still, the least predictable thing must be how much he wishes he could talk to Satoru. Now that, was something Sukuna never thought he'd experience.
But he seriously can't help but wonder, when he's left feeling conflicted and lost, if that stupid friend of his might have some sort of guidance to offerâ probably baseless guidance, pulled from old movies with bad actingâ but guidance nonetheless.
Instead, Sukuna is left with nothing but his own judgment when he makes the decision to turn his visitors away.
And as the hours tick by, they trickle into days spent locked away inside his apartment. Thankfully, delivery services are still runningâ if Sukuna had to go to the grocery store at a time like this to get food he'd probably just starve to death.
The elderly couple never completely left his mind. Sukuna still found himself thinking about them when the news ended and his apartment was drowning in silence. The lights low and the air chilled, he sits on his couch nursing a drinkâ one of the only good things leftâ and recalling their faces as he turned them away.
With a light shake of his head and another swig of the amber liquor in his glass, Sukuna pushes the memory from his mind. No use dwelling on what's been done.
Sukuna rummages through his pocket for his phone. The notifications are empty. He was half looking for any missed texts, and half looking to track his delivery order, an old habit he hasn't been able to shake.
There's no delivery tracking anymore. Such a simple thing that you don't realize you'll miss until it's gone. Sukuna had to call the delivery service directly and tell them what he wanted, and they just replied with a an estimate of when someone might come by and hung up the phone.
It leaves Sukuna feeling antsy, his leg bouncing with repressed energy as he waits for his food to arrive with no knowledge of how long that'll even take.
So when that knock finally comes, he's acting on impulse. Nearly jumping to his feet and heading straight for the door, Sukuna only reins himself in at the last second to quickly look through the peepholeâ an action that's become commonplace, necessary even.
He's expecting some weary delivery man on the other side, standing on his odl welcome mat with a large bag on his back and an order in his hand. But there's no face. No tired eyes and dark circles, just the yellow plastic and rubber of a hazmat suit.
Shit.
Sukuna knows what this means. He knows who is at his door. Even though he hasn't left the house since the solar flare, he's watched TV and listened to the radio. He's heard the whispers from down the hall and the conversations through his bedroom wall.
FEMA.
At first, he tries to ignore them. Stupidly pretending that no one's home even though everyone is home right now. The only people that aren't are those that are dead or had to relocateâ and after the fifth knock something tells Sukuna that FEMA knows exactly who is where.
Relenting, he reaches for the doorknob. Fingers wrapping around the cool metal as he cracks the door open an inch and peeks his head out.
"Good evening, I'm from FEMA." The man's voice is low and muffled through the suit, but its commanding nature shines through. "We're making our rounds in this neighborhood, there's been a mandatory evacuation notice."
Sukuna's brows knit together, confusion morphing into his features. Since when was there an evacuation notice? "I never heard anything about that."
"Don't worry. It's for a routine assessment, but you'll be informed when you're able to return to your residence in the future."
There's hesitation in Sukuna's reply, born from the vagueness in the masked man's reply. "What assessment? Never heard shit about that either."
"That's really none of your business," the agent snaps. His tone curt and irritated, a sense of unease begins to settle within Sukuna, a feeling that only grows stronger with the longer he looks at the man at his door. Hidden from view by his uniform, there's really nothing that gives any indication of who he really is. "Just pack what you need and come with me."
Sukuna inhales deeply, trying to undo the knot forming in his chest. "Is everyone evacuating?"
There's never an answer to that question, the FEMA agent choosing to instead respond by barking at Sukuna to go pack a bag and prepare to evacuate, lest he continue to impede their work.
Sukuna moves swiftly through his apartment. Phone, phone charger, t-shirt, food, boxers, toothbrush. He grabs whatever he can fit into his backpack before finally heading back to the front door.
The FEMA agent still awaits him in the doorway, stoic and silent before turning, wordlessly commanding Sukuna to follow.
It's surrealâ the entire situation.
Packing whatever he can of his life into a single bag before leaving his home with no one but a mysterious man whose face he hasn't even seen.
The only reassurance comes when Sukuna makes it to the street outside his building and sees some of his neighbors there too. They seem to be in a similar state as him. A little frazzled, but primarily worried as they clutch a fraction of their belongings and look to one another for guidance.
They shuffle in place, sweat beading on their foreheads from the heat despite the sun long having set. They wait for instructions from the hazmat suits and Sukuna stands in silence, his mind racing with endless questions as he glances at his phone once more.
He's not expecting to see anything new, but his lasts texts delivered at least.
And it's not much at all but it's something. It's a sign that at least his friends' phones are still on, still connected to a cell tower somewhere that's providing enough data to at least receive a message. Now he just has to hope and pray that he gets a response.
Shoving the phone back into his pocket, Sukuna looks up once more at the crowd around him. His neighbors, their friends and family, they surround one another with chatter, conspiracies and questions sprouting from their conversations and Sukuna can't help but eavesdrop, his own unspoken questions starting to rise.
"I heard they're relocating us to another neighborhood."
What's wrong with ours?
"Yeah, there's another building across town that has space for us."
Where did that space suddenly come from?
"I heard they're building houses in the country for the city folk to stay in."
And how the hell would they get a bunch of houses built so quickly in a time like this?
"No, that's not itâ they said people have been staying in houses in the country because of all the chaos in this cities."
Now that is plausible. Intuition tugging at the corner of his mind, Sukuna can't help but feel like that piece of information will become useful eventually, his thoughts drifting back to his friends.
It's not like the countryside has ever been known for having lightning fast cell service.
He's brought back down to reality when the constant buzz around him dies down. Words that were on their way out are sucked back in and saved for another time, another conversation, when the men wearing yellow approach the crowd.
If Sukuna's ears could perk up, they would right now. Straining to focus on the muffled voice coming from in front of him as he awaits what are sure to be instructions on where to goâ
"The sun will be rising in roughly six hours. To improve your chances of finding a place to shelter during the day, we suggest you disperse now."
That's it?
The uproar is immediate. Every individual, man and woman, old and young alike erupt into shoutingâ and rightfully so. These agents went door to door, telling residents that they had to leave behind everything they owned, everything they knew, at the drop of a hat, and they had no plan for what to do afterwards?
No shelter set aside for the evicted. No food, no water, no transportation.
Not even a measly suggestion of where to start looking.
These guys were fucking ridiculous.
And as fucked up as it all was, the most fucked up part was the fact that there was no use even arguing at this point. Any time and breath spent yelling at those responsible would be wasted when it could be used to begin searching for a place to stayâ and those who didn't find one would become nothing more than melted flesh and scorched bones atop a bed of dirt.
With that, Sukuna turns his back on the individuals he shared a residence with for the last couple years of his life, and he retreats. His stomach flipping with unease, his gaze rests upon the expanse of land that stretches out before him and he reminds himself that he has no other option.
Hours that feel like days trudge by, slower than the dragging of Sukuna's feet along the unpaved road he's been following aimlessly. He has yet to find a house, an shed, a trailer, that's willing to take him in.
His tongue sits heavy and dry in his mouth, leaving a sour taste as he pants softly, the exertion beginning to catch up to him. He can't even imagine what this would be like for the others.
He's always been on top of his physique, eating healthy, working out regularly. And he knows that not everyone shares the same level of discipline as himâ not everyone can. Like people with disabilities, people that are sick, or maybe too busy, or just too old.
Sukuna's mind wanders to the elderly couple that had stopped by his door. Shaking his head, he tries to push the image of their faces from his mind, swallowing thickly.
His throat is scratchy from inhaling the dry dust around him.
It was never this dry where he lived but he supposes this is what happens when the earth practically gets air fried. Water sources start to dry, moisture gets sucked out of the ground and leaves the air stale and the land a desert. Humanity is living in a place that's quickly becoming incapable of sustaining the life it once did.
Fuck, this is depressing.
Sukuna's pulled from his thoughts when he see the tell-tale glimmer of a porch light in the distance, just barely blocked by some trees at the entrance of a sparse forest.
His destination.
Turning on autopilot, he re-routes his path to head toward the home, silently praying for entry. It's worn down, the paint peeling off the walls and the windows dirty as he approaches the house. Wooden planks creak beneath his heavy feet, tired with age, they fight to support his weight as he raises a fist to the door and knocks.
Once. Twice. Three times and then he waits.
There's some shuffling just behind the door before a gruff voice calls out, "what do ya want?" His accent is thick, southern, and his tone is skeptical. There isn't a peep hole on the door but one look to the side and Sukuna sees a curtain fluttering closed.
"Just tryin' to find a place to sleep," Sukuna replies, voice loud in an effort to be heard clearly through the barrier. "Sun's gonna be up soon."
"I know that, boy. You ain't gonna find what you're lookin' for here."
Sukuna tries to put on his best face, whatever that might be, before he responds. "There's no room for me in there?" He knows he's not the most conventional looking man. Riddled with tattoos and piercings, pink hair, not to mention his size. He got used to the stares a long time agoâ but he knows some people never got used to him.
Usually older folk, those who have more traditional views on what a man his age ought to look like.
When he'd seen there was no peep hole on the door he was relieved. But that relief was quickly swept away when Sukuna realized that the owner of the home had been eyeing him already through a window near the entrance.
He sighs, long and tired as a hand comes to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Look, I've been walkin' for hours and I just need a place to hole up for a day. I'll leave right after, I swear."
And he really means it. Sure, it would be a pain in the ass to set out on foot once more to find another place to stay, but he also wasn't going to force anyone to let him hang around where he wasn't wanted. So, one dayâ that's all he's asking for.
But even that he can't get. The old man in the home is firm on his decision, his voice unwavering each time that he tells Sukuna to get off his porch. Until finally, he stopped replying and Sukuna got nothing but silence from him. The man had ceased to continue even listening to Sukuna as he pleaded for shelter.
With the disappointment comes exhaustion. Sukuna's last ounce of hope begins to die out, leaving him all too aware of the way his body aches. His skin is sticky with sweat and dusted in a layer of dirt, his muscles straining and joints stiff as he starts walking again. Step after step, he drags himself forward despite having no real direction.
He's going to die out here.
That's the one thought he can't escape now. The gravity of his situation hits him like a semi-truck as he sees the color of the sky changing. No longer a deep black speckled with white, he can see it morphing, lightening as a deep blue hue begins to creep in.
He's going to die out here and fuck, it's going to hurt.
Being burned alive is quite possibly the last way he thought he'd go out.
With a sharp exhale and a groan, Sukuna decides he's done walking. It's getting hotter, his feet are throbbing in his sneakers, and he simply cannot find it in himself to keep going as dawn draws nearer.
Shrugging off his backpack he lets it fall to the ground with a thud before slinking down and settling under a tree. Obviously he's not expecting the shade to do much, but it's nice to have a place to rest, his head falling back against the trunk.
Crimson eyes drift along the horizon as they search for the East. That one spot where the blue above him will soon begin to be replaced with violet and tinges of orange and pink.
It's odd, how he seems to have skipped the 'panic' phase that he always assumed people go through when they realize they've met their end. Instead, he's only been met with an initial wave of dread, and then disappointment.
Disappointment that he will die under a scraggly tree in the middle of nowhere, all alone during the god damn apocalypse. He's not even getting killed by a zombie, 'visitor', whatever.
Talk about lame.
Chest rising and falling deeply, Sukuna's breathing slows with acceptance as his eyes flutter shut. Things really come full circleâ he supposes this is his karma. In another universe, perhaps he would have opened his door, welcomed those in need into his home with open arms, and maybe that would have saved him.
Snap!
Sukuna's eyes fly open. They scan the scene around him, rolling slowly over the landscape as a bead of sweat trickles down his temple.
He can feel it.
A presence he hadn't even noticed before. Now overwhelming, Sukuna is pinned in place by the mere awareness of his proximity to whatever is there. The energy radiating from It burns into his side, leaving his hair standing on end, goosebumps littering his skin.
Where did it come from?
How had he not sensed it earlier?
The air is barely reaching his lungs as Sukuna twists his neck, head slowly turning to the side, finally moving to look at what he knows is right beside him. And nothing he has seen before, nothing he could even imagine, comes close to what awaited his gaze.
With no face, no legs, It drags itself forward on two arms.
It's body is pitch black, lacking any definition that comes from shadows and highlights, and yet there is more to It. The essence of what lies beside Sukuna is something to be understood, rather than to be seenâ and now Sukuna is much less certain that the sun will be what causes his demise.
His legs are made of lead as he tries to stand or simply back away. A wave of nausea courses through his stomach as he feels the bile rising in his throat which he fights to swallow back downâ he's already dehydrated enough.
A silly thing to care about in this moment, but his thoughts are scrambled. He's unable to focus his thoughts as his body finally registers the panic that it seemed to bypass earlier, and all that is rational becomes secondary.
A limb reaches forward, outstretched in Sukuna's direction before landing roughly on the ground a few feet away. Digging into the dirt, the creature pulls itself forward, inch by inch. The putrid smell of burnt flesh fills Sukuna's nose, causing him to gag. He's smelled it before, when he stupidly opened his window on one of the first nights after the cataclysm.
It's a scent he'd never forget.
Sukuna opens his mouth to make a sound, maybe to scream, to cry for help or beg for whatever is approaching him to turn around. But when the hot air hits the back of his throat, any words die in the dry heat as nothing but a small cry escapes him.
Each expansion of his chest is too shallow and his heart is beating too fast as he finally scrambles backwards. Shuffling in the dirt and kicking up dust as he fruitlessly tries to get away.
Thinking back, he's certain he's never felt this way before.
Memory after memory plays in Sukuna's mind, only reminding him that he's lived a comfortable life, one where he's always been bigger than most people, stronger. He'd walk alone at night and sleep with the door unlocked sometimes. He'd watch horror movies alone in the dark and not once would his heart rate increase in the slightest.
And here he isâ probably about to have a fucking heart attack with the way the poor organ is hammering in his chest.
An incessant ringing in his ears makes him clutch his head in his hands, eyes squeezing shut and even with them closed he can see It. In his mind the image is clearer, something he can't escape even if he were to claw his own eyes out, and with each passing second he fears he might.
The longer that Sukuna is stuck in this being's presence, the more he finds himself praying for death to visit him.
His hands feel numb, tingling slightly as the oxygen in his body is cut off from them, rerouted to more important parts of his bodyâ the ones fighting pointlessly to help him survive.
Tears that were forming in his waterline begin to fall, little streaks appearing in the layer of dirt on his skin. Then, Sukuna's blurry vision speckles, a grainy film settling over the scene before him as black begins to seep in from the corners of his periphery.
Has It already started to kill him?
Or is this an effect of the sun beginning to rise?
Maybe his body has started to shut down from the rising temperature. Is this what a heat stroke is like?
It's difficult to think.
Each thought dissipates as quickly as it forms because Sukuna can't focus on anything but the shuddering in his chest as he struggles to take in another breath.
He can feel the water on his cheeks and taste the salt on his cracked lips but his vision is black when he slumps forward. With his head between his knees, Sukuna collapses to the side, a cloud of dust kicking up around his limp body.
likes, comments, reblogs always appreciated ! i have more works here âĄ
A/N: yay finally starting this series :p again ty for the patience on this! i really don't want to rush it, and i might even end up writing 5 parts instead of 4. anyways i hope yall enjoyed, would love to hear your thoughts (˶ËáËË”)
wow life really killed me on December now I'm back ready to nut more to fictional characters <3 I don't wanna now anything ab the real world I just want fratkuna to hold me tight
im so glad i met you this year, you are such a delight to see in my notifications i literally be giggling when i see your name pop up. overall i love your vibes you just seem like a super cool person in general.
hopefully your holidays are going well and youâre going to have an amazing 2026 đ«¶
stawwwwwp you're making me blush frrr, i take the compliment coming from one of the most creative ppl in here đŁ, i hope your holidays are going great too !! my best wishes for you, nill :*
in which your boyfriends spoil you for christmas... or so they think
includes: gojo, choso, toji, geto and sukuna
warnings: pure crack, swear words, mdni +18, suggestive language
GOJO
CHOSO
TOJI
GETO
SUKUNA
a.n: i was just feeling silly and wanted to post something christmas related cuz this christmas hasn't been feeling like it at all for me, merry xmas to u all <3
thing about censorship is that once you allow one thing to be censored, itâs a domino effect from there.
you canât only vouch for the censorship of things you personally hate. because if those things can be censored, everything else can and will be censored too eventually, until all thatâs left of art is just rainbow and sunshine and heterosexual stuff of conservative values.
itâs either nothing is censored or everythingâthat is not rainbow and sunshine and heterosexual and of conservative valuesâis censored.
âbut it makes me uncomfortableâ the block button is there. you can also filter out specific words/tags of what you donât want to see. thatâs how you curate your own internet experience and protect your own peace of mind. you do it by rightfully choosing not to consume (or even see) what makes you uncomfortable, what upsets you. but you donât do it by demanding that others censor themselves just to cater to your personal comfort.
bitches acting Weird about Naoya Zenin as if he isn't a FICTIONAL character and this isn't a FANFICTION community I seriously can't stand this... do y'all think Sukuna is a feminist have you seen him have you READ his lines,,, it's called fiction for a reason
bitches acting Weird about Naoya Zenin as if he isn't a FICTIONAL character and this isn't a FANFICTION community I seriously can't stand this... do y'all think Sukuna is a feminist have you seen him have you READ his lines,,, it's called fiction for a reason
The first person Yuuji went to after he figured out he wasn't aging normally wasn't Megumi, or Nobara, or even Maki. It was Shoko. Because when it comes to being the one left behind, Shoko knows that feeling all too well
summary: you give your boyfriend a sweet, thoughtful gift and heÂŽs an ungrateful bastard.
warnings: toxic relationship, jealousy, possessiveness, aggressive behavior, obssessive behavior, crazy reader not in a fun way... okay maybe a little, MDNI.
pairing: gymbro!ryomen sukuna x reader
sukuna has always felt a swell of pride in his chest when he tells people youâre his girlfriend. people stare, they ask, and that bastard just grins from ear to ear, repeating over and over that youâre his. some people even fear for your safety⊠you can see it in their worried faces when they ask if youâre sure youâre okay.
truth is, you couldnât be better. thatâs what youâre thinking as you watch the very much strong, veiny arms of your boyfriend lifting weights at the gym, his grunts echoing in the background. heâs sitting in front of the mirror, so you have a perfect view of his whole body. his tattoos stretching across biceps that look ready to explode, his huge thick thighs, his face⊠his beautiful, perfect face. a pout forms on your lips the second you think about how much you miss him and how much you miss sitting on his mouth. for a moment, his arm crosses over his chest and your view is blocked, so you take the chance to get up from the couch and grab some water, but you freeze immediately when you hear a womanâs voice.
your head snaps around 180°, you swear you heard your neck crack, but nothing matters as you practically run back to the couch, eyes glued to the giant tv decorating your living room.
âhi. want to take turns with the machine? all the others are taken,â she says in a voice way too sweet for your liking. or disliking⊠but thatâs not even the worst part. the worst part is your boyfriendâs immediate âyeah, whatever,â as he stands up and wipes the machineâs seat for her.
through the screen, you watch her thank him again with that suggestive voice, and he tells her itâs nothing andâ
oh, FUCK THIS SHIT.
her fucking hand is grabbing your boyfriendâs wrist.
it doesnât matter that sukuna subtly pulls his hand away almost immediately, no. he let her touch him for too many fucking seconds. now youâre seeing red, and thereâs a strange burning feeling in your stomach. you can feel every nerve in your muscles trembling.
one hour and forty minutes.
one hour and forty minutes is how long the stupid bastard you call your boyfriend spends âtaking turnsâ with that woman. one hour and forty minutes of her smiling at him like an idiot and him answering all her casual questions. at this point, your tv isnât even intact anymore. about half an hour ago you threw one of your heels at the screen, and now thereâs a weird crack in the top right corner.
âfucking cheating bastard,â you mutter over and over until youâre exhausted, and get tired from walking around the room.
fifteen minutes later, you hear the door to your apartment open, and before exploding, you make sure to take a deep breath. it doesnât help at all, but at least you can defend yourself later by saying you tried to calm down.
the moment sukuna steps into the living room, before he can finish a sentence, youâre already on your feet, grabbing him roughly by the hem of his shirt.
âwhoa, whoa, whoa, someoneâs eager today, huh?â he says with that stupid smirk on his face. his hands automatically fall onto your waist, pure muscle memory, and you immediately shove them off and stare him dead in the eyes.
thatâs when sukuna realizes it.
youâre not horny.
youâre burning with rage.
oh.
his eyes widen instantly and his brows knit together as he tries to scan through a thousand possibilities from his day to figure out what he couldâve done wrong⊠he woke you with kisses this morning, you gave him birthday sex and that beautiful necklace heâs wearing right now, then he stayed in bed with you for a while, you planned a weekend trip for his birthday, then he said he was going to the gym and that was⊠that was it. everything was fine today⊠his eyes return to you with genuine confusion.
âit never stops amazing me just how fucking greedy men are. you have me, your gorgeous girlfriend in the morning, i give you the best sex of your life, i give you love, i give you my presence in your miserable life and you still want gym bitches who give you nothing but empty smiles, you bastard!â
you jumped out of pure anger just to be eye-level with him for even a few seconds, then yanked him toward you by the chain of the necklace you gave him.
and he⊠well, sukuna has never felt more confused.
bitches? gym? smiles?
his face is pure doubt, his eyes darting everywhere as he tries to piece together what the hell youâre talking about.
âbaby, what are you talking about? why are we talking about gym bitches? is this a code for wanting to have sex?â
your hands curl into little fists and you hammer them against his chest, not hurting him at all, laughing bitterly while your index finger points directly at his neck with your long, red nail almost touching it.
âdonât play with me, sukuna. i swear to god iâll kill you. i saw you. i saw you âshareâ that stupid machine with that bitch. i saw her grab your arm, i saw her look at your tattoos, i saw you, fucker!â then, with your free hand, you shake the silver cross of the necklace you gave him this morning as a gift. âIT WAS GOD. GOD SHOWED ME EVERYTHING, BITCH."
seeing the confusion still on his face, you roll your eyes and shove him to face the living room tv. it takes him a few seconds to realize that the image on the screen is literally what was in front of him. he turns toward your window, sees the same angle reflected on the tv⊠but he also sees the fucking hole in the corner of it and then everything starts to click.
he stays quiet for a moment before bursting into laughter. not a quiet laugh. a full, loud, honest laugh as his hands grab your waist again, this time firmly.
âyouâre actually crazy, bunny. fucking crazy,â he purrs into your ear, but youâre pulling your face away and trying to push him off.
âhow dare you call me crazy when you let another woman touch you?â
your eyes are red with anger, your nostrils flared, and your pretty lips are pulled into a furious pout.
god, sukuna adores you.
âbaby⊠she didnât even touch me for more than five seconds, and i didnât do anything wrong. i know how annoying it is waiting for machines during your routine, and honestly i didnât mind sharing. i didnât even look at her, bunny⊠you saw it yourself.â
his voice is rough, velvety, and playful.
and you hate him for it. hate how much your anger turns him on.
so you slap him. hard and clean, like always.
before he can turn his face back toward you, you spit on him, a good amount of heavy spit, and grab his cheeks tightly with your right hand, forcing his head to the side.
âstay like that, dog.â
at your words, sukuna feels all the blood in his body rush straight to that glorious place.
nothing turns him on more than his girlfriendâyouâtalking to him with absolutely no gentleness.
"and i'm not scolding you, baby, you did absolutely nothing wrong", your voice now is sweet, caring, seductive in the most wicked way. it always fucks him up how fast you change moods and how fast your voice goes dry or sweet within seconds. "you're a good boy to me."
soon your hands tangle in his pink hair and you yank it hard, exposing his neck.
once itâs exposed, you lick, bite, and spit on it until youâre satisfied.
âi cannot stand the tougt of someone breathing next to you, smelling you, touching you,â you say, with a desperate tone to your voice that has always made you stand out to him.
âyou belong to me.â
you repeat it over and over, kissing along his jaw. his hands stay glued to his sides, as ordered, and right as youâre about to give him another command, a broken moan escapes his lips.
immediately, you look down to notice the wet patch that has formed in his grey sweatpants and a mean laugh slips from your glossy lips.
âyouâre so, so pathetic.â
then, forcing his face up to look at you, you spit at him again.
âthatâs all what youâre good for.â
a.n: thatÂŽs just me with my obsessive kink about being the one that makes the opression donÂŽt mind me :3333
2087
stormborns
tangentwithtanner
pixelskylines
snowghoul
