summary: stressed!single dad!suguru works at your campus library
warnings: 18+, MDNI, oral (f!receiving), p in v sex, creampie
art by @/nik0ru_art on x, found on pinterest. we are so back!! (this is the new account for @/cherrys-wrld, i did not steal this post)
stressed!single dad!suguru who’s the father of two lovely girls. Twins, in fact, named Mimiko and Nanako. They’re six years old now, and they run him ragged. He works as a barista and a librarian just to make ends meet. His shoulders are perpetually slumped, and his dark circles look more like craters than anything. He's overworked, underfucked, and the only things keeping him from feeling like a complete and utter failure are his two little girls.
stressed!single dad!suguru who’s turning 28 and feels like he’s accomplished nothing this year. It’s not that he views raising his daughters as worthless. It’s the complete opposite, in fact. He’d do anything for his girls, even putting his own goals on the backburner. It’s been three years since the girls’ mother walked out on them. He had to leave his original job in order to be there for them more.
stressed!single dad!suguru is pulling an overnight shift during exam season at the university he works at. The library is massive, and he’s in charge of helping students specifically looking for biology textbooks. Enter you, a graduate student at the university. You’re in the final stages of completing your masters, and you desperately need to find a specific research article only available in hard copy in the library. Thankfully, Suguru is there to help you out.
stressed!single dad!suguru who blushes the moment you walk up to the service desk to ask him for help. It’s been so long since he’s felt the familiar flutter starting up in his chest, and he’s so lost in studying your features that you have to repeat yourself. He shakes himself out of his trance and searches the name of the article in the database.
stressed!single dad!suguru who eagerly helps you comb through the shelf for the journal you’re looking for, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye every so often. It’s not usual to get someone near his age asking for his help in here, and you’re just so beautiful. You end up finding the article before he does since he’s so distracted by you. You thank him profusely, though, before bustling back to your study room to get to work.
stressed!single dad!suguru who thinks about you for the next week after he meets you. It’s stupid. He knows that. He hasn’t felt so infatuated with someone since he was a teenager. He’s embarrassed and certain his feelings are unrequited until you come walking into the library one day asking for him. He watches with wide, dark purple eyes as you approach him. Nothing could prepare him when you ask him out on a coffee date as a thank you. Seems like you were thinking about him just as much as he was you.
stressed!single dad!suguru who has a friend from high school, Nanami, come over to watch the girls. He has his own son, Yuji, who’s the same age as the twins. Suguru’s internally panicking, trying to rush around and get ready. What do people even wear on dates nowadays? It feels like it’s been a decade since he’s had to impress someone…god, maybe it has been. He has to shut that line of thought down before he starts spiraling about the passage of time.
stressed!single dad!suguru who settles on a black turtleneck and gray slacks with a subtle plaid pattern on them. As he looks himself over in the mirror, he silently thanks god that he still does his calisthenics every morning. He’s a bit bulkier now than he was when he was younger. He fills his shirts out a bit more, but he looks like a man now.
stressed!single dad!suguru who’s borderline giddy as he heads to the coffee shop to meet you. His stoic face reveals nothing about the nerves thrumming under his skin, but he stumbles in the doorway when he catches sight of you waiting for him in the coffee shop. He rushes over to join you at your table.
stressed!single dad!suguru who blushes when you smile at him and can barely form intelligible responses once you start flirting with him. He always prided himself on being smooth and quick-witted, but he’s extremely out of practice. You don’t seem to mind, though. If anything, you seem more and more infatuated with him as the date goes on.
stressed!single dad!suguru who somehow manages to secure a second date. And a third. And a forth. Suddenly, you’re his girlfriend, and you don’t even mind that he has kids. He’s started smiling more now, and the day don’t seem quite as long between seeing you and taking care of the girls.
stressed!single dad!suguru who doesn’t put out until you’re official. It’s not that he’s not into you. Fuck, no. He’s so attracted to you that he’s had to take cold showers just from reading your good morning texts right after he wakes up. He just needs to know that you’re as in it as he is.
stressed!single dad!suguru who doesn’t waste anymore time after a particularly intense dinner date. The girls are having a sleepover at Nanami’s place, and he’s got you in his bed before he even realizes it. He kisses you like he’s trying to give you his life force. It’s messy, but it’s the best kiss either of you have ever had.
stressed!single dad!suguru who traces his way down your body slowly, mapping every inch of you with his mouth and hands. He’s desperate to get off, but he needs to feel you and know you so fucking badly. He’s been dreaming about the taste of your cunt on his tongue, and he’ll die if he doesn’t get a taste.
stressed!single dad!suguru who’s got your legs hiked over his shoulders and his head buried between your thighs until you’re shaking and crying out under him. He doesn’t stop until the lower half of his face is covered in your slick and there’s a puddle of drool and arousal pooling under your ass.
stressed!single dad!suguru who’s got a fat cock and strong thighs to pin you open. His hands are so big and strong, grabbing your waist and holding you down as he thrusts into you. He starts slow, but it’s not long until the built up desire between the two of you has you rutting into each other at a quickening pace.
stressed!single dad!suguru who kneels between your legs and lifts your lower body up off the bed, just to fuck into you better. You’re starting to understand how he became a father so young. He’s so intense that it’s mind-numbing. Thankfully, you’re on birth control, so you don’t have to worry about the stringy precum sticking to your gummy walls.
stressed!single dad!suguru who cums deep inside you, despite his desire to pull out. He finishes with a pathetic whimper pressed against your neck, slowly pulling out and collapsing next to you. His arms hook around you and cradle you close to his body.
stressed!single dad!suguru who brushes your hair out of your face and presses kisses along your cheekbones. He’s so tender, his touch achingly delicate as he wipes you down and dresses you in one of his oversized shirts. He curls up in bed next to you that night and holds you so close that your hearts start beating in sync.
stressed!single dad!suguru who makes you strawberry crepes in the morning. He asks you to move in with him a few months later and starts looking for engagement rings after you graduate. He’s not letting you slip through his fingers. He’s sick of falling behind and letting things fall by the wayside. Besides, you’re so good with the girls…maybe it wouldn’t be so bad having a few more after all…
all written content belongs to @planetchoso! do not reupload, translate, or feed my work into ai. i do not own the original characters or the art used above.
pale visitor!sukuna x survivor!reader
'no, i'm not a human' AU
part 1 ⇢ part 2 ⇢ part 3
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, dual pov, 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.
There was no light wherever he was. But fuck, it was so hot.
Sukuna didn't even know if the sun had risen or not. In fact, he wasn't even sure how much time had passed since he'd passed out in the dirt.
For all he knew, he could've been dead.
Though if he had actually died, then why was he hurting so much?
There was a sheen of sweat spread across Sukuna's feverish body, partially due to the temperature around him, but also because of the searing aches in his ribs. It was a blinding, white pain that spread out from each side of his torso and he didn't dare touch the area.
His eyes were useless in his state, shrouded in darkness, and yet he willed himself to move. His legs were weak, in fact, his entire being was exhausted as his palms pressed into the ground. Straining slightly, Sukuna lifted himself and he rose cautiously to his feet.
It took a bit of exploring, time spent wandering through the darkness, to orient himself. Sukuna didn't think he was inside a building or a home, but he couldn't see the sky so he was definitely not somewhere out in the open. The ground was dirt, packed firm but dusted with a dry top layer that coated his skin. And the walls felt like rock, jagged and cool to the touch, a contrast to the rest of the space.
A cave?
It seemed like the most likely option. The issue was, even if that was true, he still had no idea how he got there. Perhaps that thing he'd seen had brought him there? But if so, why? Obviously he was still alive, so he figured it was possible someone else brought him there. But again— why?
And why didn't that thing kill him?
A million questions raced through Sukuna's mind, the chaos bringing with it a dull ache that left his head pounding. There were too many unknowns.
Sucking in a breath, Sukuna's hands flew to his pockets. His phone. Patting frantically, he searched for his belongings but came up empty, pulling a low groan from the man. His situation just kept getting worse.
But he needed to move— to leave. He needed to get outside if he was going to have any chance at finding out where he might be.
And that felt like it took another hour at least. Another hour or more of stumbling around aimlessly, using his hands on the walls to guide him as his eyes fruitlessly tried to adjust to the darkness. And then he saw it.
One small area that looked just a tad lighter than everything else he'd seen. One space where he could make out the ridges of the rocks around him and the outlines of his hands.
So Sukuna followed his sight. He took whatever direction allowed him to see more than before, until stars finally began to speckle in the black expanse of the sky above him. A crescent moon hung high, casting a soft glow across the landscape before him.
It shouldn't have been that bright. So far from being full, the moon was a tiny sliver of silver that illuminated more than Sukuna believed possible. And yet, he could see. He could see enough to follow a small footpath, one weary step after another.
Really, Sukuna didn't know where it lead.
Sukuna didn't know where he was going to end up before the sun rose once more, but for some reason he felt certain it would be the right place. Call it a gut feeling.
His mind strayed from thoughts of his journey, drifting back to reflect again on recent events. Were they even that recent? There was no way to know how much time had passed before he woke up again. In all honesty, he didn't quite remember the events from before. Sukuna tried to focus, to recall images in his mind but each one looked as though it was recorded on an old film camera. Too grainy, the picture appeared smudged, the lighting too bright or too dark to make out much more than his own feet.
"Fuck—" Sukuna cursed under his breath, a hand coming up to clutch his head. A sharp sting seared through his temple before settling between his eyes.
But it wasn't nearly as painful as his ribs. The sudden movement of his arm felt as though he split open a wound, tearing through nonexistent stitches along his sides. He couldn't explain it. Unless there were bones broken beneath his skin that he was unaware of, Sukuna couldn't understand where the sensation was coming from. He'd have to take a look at the area whenever he found a place to stay.
No more than an hour later, he saw a small home. It was set aside from a few others, nestled near the edge of the forest, a burnt field lying between the residence and its neighbors. That's where he needed to go.
Sukuna could see the shimmer of the lights that were on inside shining through the thin fabric curtains covering the windows. He figured it must've been hot in there, but still, it was better than being burned alive.
As he got closer, muffled voices found their ways into his ears. There were at least two people in the home, hushed whispers and comforting words being offered to one another. Each guest unaware that one more was eavesdropping, preparing to join their group.
It didn't even occur to Sukuna that it was odd— the fact that he could make out the contents of the conversations happening inside. Even as he listened through the solid wood of the front door, he could tell that there was a familiar voice. One he hadn't heard since before the cataclysm, one he'd been hoping to hear again.
Before he could question it, he was knocking, knuckles rapping against the door five times. And then he waited.
"Hello?"
Hello.
Not 'what do you want'. Not 'what are you doing here'. A simple greeting, and for some reason it felt rare.
"Hi," Sukuna cleared his throat, "Was lookin' for somewhere to stay for a bit. Stumbled across your home, here."
"I see." It sounded like a man on the other side of the door. His voice deep, gruff, but there was a gentle air to it, understanding laced into his words. "Where were you before?"
The question gave Sukuna pause. He weighed his options as he thought about how to respond, debating what he should reveal or not. Ultimately, he decided to keep his answer as simple as possible.
"The city. But FEMA kicked us outta our homes."
"Ah, I've been hearin' about that. You been traveling with anyone else?"
Sukuna could feel his eye twitch. Hadn't he answered enough questions? He was fucking tired— tired from walking, tired from going through whatever it was he went through, tired of hurting. Inhaling deeply, he fought to fend off his irritation, trying to remind himself that the man was just taking precautions.
"I've been alone."
Silence.
And then he heard the sound of metal sliding against metal as the homeowner released lock after lock on the door. He must have installed more after the news about the visitors. Sukuna supposed that it wasn't a bad idea, though if that was the case then why did it bother him?
The door swung open to reveal a shorter man, dressed in a denim jacket with bags under his eyes.
"Come in, you can pick any room you'd like to hole up in. I hope you don't mind, but I'll have to test you eventually."
Sukuna stepped forward, crossing the threshold into the home in one long stride. His eyes scanned the interior. It was quaint. Not so old that the floorboards creaked beneath his feet, but old enough that the paint on the walls was dull in color, worn down over the years. There were a couple pictures hanging up, evidence of a life before the apocalypse.
Finally, Sukuna's eyes settled again on the man in front of him. His expression was neutral, revealing little more than the fact that he was seemingly unimpressed by Sukuna's appearance.
"Test me?"
"For signs of being a visitor," the man clarified.
And how was he supposed to pass that? What kinds of signs would they even be looking for? Sukuna supposed that if he knew, he might be able to try and prepare a bit, perhaps even seek out one of the other guests to try and get some information.
No, it was okay. Sukuna shook his head lightly, trying to ignore the throbbing that returned to his forehead, likely a result of his endless train of thought and the ridiculously bright overhead light. He was going to pass the tests, because it wouldn't make sense that he'd show signs of being a visitor.
"That's fine," Sukuna answered curtly, ready to be done with the conversation.
Pushing past the man, he walked slowly, ears tuned in to try and listen through each door he passed by. Sukuna wanted to make sure that whatever room he chose to stay in, there was another person there.
Too quiet.
Too quiet.
There.
He could hear the sound of someone shuffling around on the other side of the wooden barrier. His hand wrapped around the cool metal of the doorknob, twisting it slowly until he was able to push open the door with a soft creak.
The sight waiting for Sukuna made him freeze, standing in the middle of the doorway with baited breath as he met a set of piercing blue eyes.
"Holy shit," Satoru breathed, a hand pushing his hair back as he stood up from his place on the couch. "Holy shit."
Sukuna didn't move, just stayed stock-still with his mouth hanging agape as Satoru rushed towards him. He was embraced tightly, his friend wrapping two arms around his torso with a force he hadn't quite known Satoru possessed. It left a burning sensation spreading out from his sides, sharp enough that it took everything in Sukuna not to shove the man off of him.
"Where have you been?" Satoru asked, his voice breathless with disbelief. "And how did you get here? What happened to Choso and Yuji? Have you seen them?"
It was too much at once. Too many questions being hurled at Sukuna and he wasn't even sure how well he could answer them. The pitch of Satoru's voice left him cringing, reclining slightly to create a small space between them. Whatever sense of relief, excitement, comfort that Sukuna received from this reunion was fading quickly, being replaced with a piercing ache between his eyes and a ringing in his ears.
Everything was just so loud. So light.
"You good man?"
Satoru's eyebrows were drawn together in concern, his eyes sweeping over Sukuna's figure which was hunched over ever so slightly, curling in on itself.
"Yeah," Sukuna grunted, a hand coming up to swipe at his forehead which had begun to bead with sweat. "Just tired. Been walkin' all night."
"Ah okay, that makes sense. We can chill here at least." Satoru's gaze wandered over Sukuna once more, brows pinching even further together. Sukuna's stomach twisted, irritation seeping in at the look Satoru was giving him— Worry? Condescension? Disgust? "You're not looking too good, you wanna take a shower or something? I bet the old man would let you."
What was Satoru expecting him to look like after going through what he did? Went to fucking hell and back for all he knows and he had the gall to say that, to look at Sukuna like that.
The expression on Sukuna's face gave Satoru pause, a chill running down his spine as he was filled with a sense of unease that he quickly tried to brush away. The tattooed man had yet to say a word, his eyes narrowed slightly and mouth frozen in a sneer as he stared silently at Satoru.
Clearing his throat, Satoru spoke once more, "if you're too tired we can just go to bed. We'll shower and talk whenever we wake up, might be able to get some food too."
The thought of food made Sukuna feel like his stomach was turning inside out. It wasn't hunger. It should've been, but something inside of him was certain that it wasn't. Rather, something more akin to revulsion. He knew whatever food he may be offered would not be what he needed, craved.
"Can you shut the lights off? Giving me a damn headache, so fuckin' bright," Sukuna grumbled, one shaky arm coming up to shield his eyes despite the throbbing in his side when he did so. He was going to have to check that out when he got a chance.
Satoru didn't comment on the bitterness laced in Sukuna's words as they were tossed carelessly in his direction. He assumed his friend was just exhausted, that maybe something had happened to him or his brothers that he wasn't ready to talk about. So he ignored the anxiety in his gut, he told himself that this was normal because nothing was normal anymore, and he turned off the lamp in the corner of the room— the only light that was on.
Neither of the men slept much that day. Sukuna had spent hours laying on his back, not daring to rest on either of his sides as the pain crawled along his body, refusing to let him go. It spread overnight, upwards and downwards. In its wake it left a searing sensation on the right side of his face, his stomach and, oddly enough, between his thighs.
It was strange.
He understood what was happening to him, and still, confusion riddled his mind. Feverish, sweat glistened across Sukuna's skin as his breathing turned shallow, his brain clouded in a fog.
"Satoru?" Sukuna rasped, his mouth dry and throat raw from his journey.
There was no response save for the soft muffled sound of chatter coming from another part of the house. With a groan, Sukuna forced himself to sit up, doing his best to ignore the aching but he no longer could when he felt it— the way his shirt was clinging to his sides. Damp with something more viscous than sweat, the fabric was stuck to the skin over his ribs.
Fuck. When had he even started bleeding? Sukuna supposed that he really did need a shower then, all things considered.
The closer he got to the door the louder the voices were. He couldn't exactly pinpoint where in the house they were coming from, but he recognized them instantly as Satoru's and the old man's. They appeared to be having a heated discussion about something.
"Did he tell ya where he's been? Where he came from?" The owner of the house was questioning Satoru intensely.
"Well, no, not yet—"
"So ya don't really know anythin' about this 'friend' of yours," the man cut him off.
"He was just tired, I told him we could talk today."
"Is that right?"
The man was skeptical, wary, especially after what Satoru had described to him earlier. He'd heard about how their latest guest was groaning all night, twitching in pain as he drifted in and out of sleep. He'd heard about how when there was finally enough light seeping through the curtains, Satoru was able to make out the dark, crimson stains on his shirt— they were not yet dry.
"First sign and he's gone. You too."
With that, Satoru was left alone. Sukuna could tell by the sound of retreating footsteps followed shortly by a door shutting, a lock clicking back into place.
Sukuna exhaled slowly, fearful of breathing too deeply and making the bleeding worse. The owner of the house wanted Satoru to gather information on him, and then to report back with whatever was found out. He wasn't told any of this. No, Satoru had acted like he was just happy to see an old friend, like he was relieved and only worried about his whereabouts.
Betrayal. The bitter emotion twisted in Sukuna's chest as he pulled his ear away from the door and stepped back because he knew Satoru was returning.
A moment later the knob turned, the door being pushed open enough for Satoru to peek his head around it. His eyes did a once over of Sukuna, no doubt taking in his current state, forming more snap judgments, gathering more intel.
Sukuna's mouth was pulled into a sneer before he could stop it. But he hated the look on his friend's face— if he could even still be called that. Sukuna wasn't quite sure where things stood between them.
Satoru's own lips were down-turned, a frown stretching across his face as his eyes swam with an emotion that Sukuna couldn't quite place. And he hated that too.
"You're bleeding," Satoru pointed out.
Obviously. "I know," Sukuna replied dryly.
Satoru's frown deepened, the expression registering in Sukuna's mind as disapproval rather than concern. "What happened?"
Sukuna just shrugged, wincing as the motion tugged at the skin over his ribs. Like hell he was going to answer any more of Satoru's questions, not since he knew what he was really doing. Helping out that man, trying to share things about Sukuna that he had no business knowing.
"Who cares. I gotta shower," Sukuna grumbled as he pushed past Gojo, muscles tensing as pain radiated out from his side but he tried not to show it on his face. He wasn't sure exactly where the bathroom was but he didn't want to ask. He'd find it on his own, he thought, he didn't need Satoru anymore.
The minute Sukuna flipped on the light in the bathroom, he immediately shut it back off. That old man must've installed a fucking 4,000 watt bulb. The singular overhead light had enough power to douse the bathroom in white, the tiles and mirror seemingly reflecting it all back at Sukuna. But he knew he can't just sit in the dark the entire time.
He needed to take a shower, which he could easily manage with the lights off after his eyes started to adjust. He was able to navigate the bathroom, stripping himself of his soiled clothes and tossing them on the floor before stepping onto cool porcelain.
Goosebumps peppered Sukuna's skin. He'd never imagined that he would feel cold again in this new world. He must've had a pretty bad fever for that to be the case, especially as he stood under the warm cascade of water.
Standing still, he let the water run over him, washing away the sweat and grime of the last few days. Before long, his skin began to sting. It stung in that familiar way when you try to rinse out a fresh wound, the water irritating the tender flesh, bringing with it a new wave of hurt. Jaw clenched tight, he suppressed the sound that threatened to spill out.
Sukuna shut off the water soon after. He had already decided that he'd sit in there for as long as it took to air dry if that meant he wouldn't need to press a rough towel to his skin.
But then he knew it was time.
Time to switch on the light and actually look at whatever was happening to him. It was time to face the truth that there was something very wrong— he knew it, Satoru knew it, anyone who'd seen him knew it.
With a deep breath he flicked on the light, wincing as the light flooded his vision again. Sukuna allowed himself the time needed for his eyes to adjust as much as they could before he moved in front of the mirror.
It was so much worse than anything he could have imagined.
The first thing he was met with was a face staring back at him. Sure, it's his, but it looks nothing like the reflection he'd been used to seeing, the one he'd seen every time he looked in a mirror before. The right side of his face was turning a deep shade of red and purple, the surface of the skin becoming calloused and leathery.
"Shit."
It almost looked like it had been burned, and a part of Sukuna wanted to tell himself that must have been what happened. That after he'd passed out, he was briefly exposed to the sun before getting to safety.
A part of him fought to find a way to support that theory, though the larger part of him knew that's all it was— a theory.
The reality of what was happening to him was much more complicated and irreparable than a burn. And that became impossible to ignore the minute that Sukuna lifted his arms as high as he could, exposing his sides to his hesitant gaze.
Sukuna's stomach twisted at the sight, bile threatening to rise up and out of his throat as he lurched forward with a gag. The putrid smell of what could only be described as raw meat wafted into his nose. It was only faintly masked by the metallic scent of blood.
A gaping wound expanded along either side of his torso, thick streams of red slowly oozing from them. Sukuna had no idea how they had formed nor what had caused them. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.
Every emotion that was swirling within the man had been washed away and replaced with confusion and revulsion.
And the most inexplicable part was that the contusion was not inward facing, like a deep gash, but rather it protruded outwards. Turning slightly to the side, Sukuna could see the way his skin was stretched beyond its means.
Was it swelling?
It must've been. It was the only logical explanation. But was previously accepted logic even something to be clinging to at that time?
His breathing came shallow, his hands trembling as they reached to prod at the injury. But one graze of his fingertips had Sukuna letting out a sharp hiss, his arm retracting at an inhuman speed in response to the tenderness.
What the fuck was he going to do about that?
Sukuna froze when he took a step, the movement reminding him of yet another uncomfortable issue— the stinging between his legs. He couldn't look. If it was anything like how his ribs looked, he wasn't sure he would be able to handle it mentally.
The mere possibility of his dick being a mangled mess smothered in blood caused him to retch. Heaving, Sukuna gripped the sides of the sink as he vomited into the bowl.
There wasn't much to come up. His appetite had been nonexistent for whatever reason, leaving him with nothing but his own stomach acid swimming around in his gut. His throat burned as he swallowed thickly and a sour taste was left in his mouth that he could barely rinse out.
He needed to pull it together.
It didn't matter what was going on with him, all that mattered was that no one else found out. Not the other guests, not the owner of the home, not even Satoru. Especially not Satoru.
It was really none of their business anyway, but Sukuna was sure they'd try to make it theirs. Fucking nosy, the whole lot of them. Not a single person under that roof knew how to worry about themselves and that thought irritated Sukuna like no other.
Talking about him, all hushed voices and whispers as they uttered his name and came up with outlandish hypotheses. They thought he couldn't hear them but they were all so loud they may as well have been speaking straight into his ear. Honestly, they were dumb as all hell if they thought he didn't know what was going on.
No, he knew. He knew that they wanted to get rid of him. They acted like they didn't trust him, but they were the ones not to be trusted.
A shame, really, considering at one point he truly thought Gojo to be one of his best friends.
Sukuna supposed this was to be expected though— disasters like this change people.
A sudden knock at the door pulled Sukuna from his thoughts, his head whipping to the side as he barked out a gruff, "what?"
It was Gojo. He could tell by the hesitation, the way he cleared his throat awkwardly before speaking. "You alright in there? It's been a while."
And for a brief second, Sukuna's features softened as he felt that Satoru may have genuinely been concerned about him. But he knew better. "I'm fine," Sukuna replied flatly. "Is that all you want?"
"Well, I also brought you a change of clothes because I noticed you forgot them. I grabbed them from your bag, I hope that's cool."
No, it was not cool. Sukuna inhaled deeply, attempting to quell his ire as he imagined Gojo rummaging through his things. The last of his personal belongings, and they were all being touched, no doubt inspected by Gojo.
"Just leave them there." Sukuna's tone made it clear that he was done talking.
With a sigh Satoru did as Sukuna said, dropping the clothes in a small heap at the foot of the door. Conflict swirled in his chest as he turned away, padding softly back to the living room that had become more of a bedroom.
Satoru found himself battling with what to do. His friend was most certainly not okay— but he also had no proof that it had anything to do with the visitors because Sukuna hadn't been tested. For all he knew, Sukuna really could have just been struggling with an injury or an illness he'd picked up during his journey. If that were the case, Satoru would have never forgiven himself if he were to abandon Sukuna, leaving him alone once more. In his current state, Satoru doubted Sukuna would've lasted more than a day.
Getting dressed was a difficult task. Sukuna tried to delicately pull the clean clothes on as best he could with his shaking hands. Sweat had returned to his forehead, his body an uncomfortable mix of hot and cold which told him that his fever was still hanging around.
He didn't bother taking the old clothes back to his room with him. There was no way he planned on keeping them with the way they were soaked through with blood, sweat, and whatever other bodily fluids had leaked from his lacerations. So he just bundled them up and dropped them in the trashcan.
Surely the clothes he had on would be looking the same in a couple hours, but that was a later problem.
Sukuna didn't bother speaking to Gojo when he returned to their room. Still, Gojo tried to engage with him, throwing out another maddening "how're you doing?" He always fucking asked that. If he'd actually meant it then Sukuna would have considered responding. Instead, he turned his back to him and crawled onto the couch in silence.
Gojo took that as his queue to shut off the lamp, leaving the two of them in a heavy darkness.
Sukuna had expected to sleep for maybe an hour, two if he was lucky. He had never imagined he would pass out the minute his eyes closed, his broad form laying so still atop the couch that he could be mistaken for a corpse. He'd remained that way for hours, sleeping all the way until the sun set and the day was over.
He awoke to an empty room. The light was still shut off but Sukuna could see enough despite the dark.
Padding silently to the door, the voices on the other side grew louder with each step. Sukuna couldn't help but take note of how good he felt.
Even with the inexplicable residual anger that he could feel simmering within him, Sukuna was calm, maybe even amused. At what, he wasn't sure. He just knew that he needed to move on someplace else. That house wasn't where he needed to be anymore.
Rolling his neck with a crack, Sukuna opened the door before ducking under the frame. He stalked down the hallway until he found the source of the whispering— two men sitting across from one another at a small table.
They looked up immediately. It took a moment for realization to set in, but it was clear when it did. Confused expressions morphed into fear as two sets of eyes rolled over Sukuna's body, widening with each passing second.
The one with snowy white hair spoke first, a pathetic stutter that was choked out. Just his name. "S-Sukuna?"
The older man snapped at him, "Gojo, get the—"
Gojo. Sukuna knew the name, he felt something tug inside him when he heard it but he couldn't quite place how he knew it.
"What happened to you?" Satoru's voice was broken. Fractured with despair, a result of the overwhelming helplessness that flooded Satoru's system the moment Sukuna had stepped into the kitchen.
Sukuna cocked his head at Satoru, like he wasn't even sure what his question was referring to. "Nothing happened. What makes you say that?"
"Gojo." Sukuna's eyes slid back over to the other pest at the table, irritation seeping into his face as he looked down at him. "The gun."
A gun? What did they honestly think that would do? Slow him down at best, until he had a few days to recover. Sukuna couldn't help but laugh.
Meanwhile, Satoru felt paralyzed. The bitter laughter rung out in his ears as he remained unable to move, unable to even look away from what used to be his close friend. Like a horrible car crash, his gaze was glued to the tragedy before him— the roughly seven foot tall being with half of its face covered in a hardened mask, four arms protruding out from its torso.
And it all happened so fast after that. Not even a small cry of Sukuna's name made it past Satoru's lips before the house was still again. Silence settled over the kitchen as Sukuna rolled out his neck once more, the bones cracking softly.
The old man wasn't much of a sight, slumped forward over the table. Sukuna ignored him, choosing instead to eye the younger man. The same feeling pulled at him again when he studied the body in front of him. That dead expression, complete with dull blue eyes and soft white hair cascading over his forehead as his head hung backwards.
Gojo.
Sukuna already knew that name was going to stick with him, constantly swirling around his muddled thoughts. It brought with it a sense of nostalgia that bothered him. It crept under his skin that no longer seemed to fit right, burrowing deeper until it became a part of him, something he would always carry with him.
But he didn't have time to dwell on it. Not then, at least. He had to keep moving, had to leave the house he was in and make his way to the next one.
There was no explanation as to why he needed to go there, it was just what he was told.
So he went.
Leaving the old wooden home, Sukuna turned his back to it. He set his sights on the next house that stood alone, overlooking the rest of its neighbors in a stillness that seemed impossible to disturb.
Your home.
And that first night where he spotted you through the window, with that irresistible look of fear on your face as you stood there, staring back at him. The feeling that turned over in his gut served as confirmation that he was in the right place. And then you slid the curtains shut, blocking him out like that would be enough to get rid of him. He couldn't stop the smile that split across his face.
There was no getting rid of him. You would see that soon enough.
When you awoke, you were filled with a sense of dread. Not directed toward the current state of the world and your existence, but rather at the thought of what you had to do today. Talking to people, testing them. From your point of view, it was a pain in the ass. But at the end of the day, you know you have no other option.
While the two individuals you decided to let into your home seemed fine, you could never be too sure. And even though you feel as though the tests would be unreliable, it's also all you have.
Still, you decide you want to talk to them first. You want to try and pry out whatever information you can about their lives before the cataclysm, what they did once they got the news, what they were doing walking around looking for shelter.
With a steadying breath you push open the door to the living room. Both of your guests are in there, sitting in silence, avoiding one another.
The first man, a tall individual with honey blonde hair and sunken cheeks, stares at you through tired eyes as you approach. He hardly reacts as you cross the room toward him. He just stays in his spot, expressionless, even when his gaze flits to the shotgun in your grip.
He's not dumb, he knows that there's suspicion. He figures he'd actually question it more if you weren't taking precautions.
"What would you like to know?" he speaks first.
Trust is scarce nowadays, and for good reason. You're not expecting to get much out of your guests, so his question leaves you stunned for a moment. You can feel the weight of another set of eyes on you as your sweaty palms adjust their hold on your gun.
"What were you doing before all this?" you ask, fighting to keep your voice even.
"Before the cataclysm?"
You nod, urging him to continue.
"Sales," he sighs. You don't reply, not yet. You can tell he's gathering the energy to keep talking, no doubt facing his own internal struggle— you all were. "When I was young, there was more to my life. Friends, family, school. But when I got older… I don't know. I let that all fade away, I guess. I lost myself in my work because all I could think about was making enough money to retire."
He leans forward, elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. You're not sure what to say. 'It's okay'? That feels disingenuous considering he's clearly not okay. 'Well, at least you don't need to work anymore'? That feels even worse, borderline insensitive.
You chew at the inside of your cheek, mulling over your responses before settling on a simple, "everyone loses their way at some point."
A long sigh leaves the man. He doesn't look up at you, keeping his head down even when he keeps talking.
"I ignored everything else, everyone else. I couldn't think about anything but my next paycheck. I just wanted to make something better for myself, you know?" He pauses, a quiet sniff coming from him and you stand awkwardly, unsure of how to comfort him.
When he finally raises his gaze to you again, his eyes are glossed over, the tip of his nose brushed pink. "I must have pretty shit luck. One day I wake up and money doesn't mean anything anymore. Everything I'd worked for, isolated myself for, gone with one news report."
Yeah. That's pretty fucking bad luck, you think. No one is guaranteed tomorrow, you're sure he knew that. But still, even when you're aware of that truth, no one wants to believe that fate may await them.
You avert your gaze, unable to keep looking at him. The desperate expression on his face makes you feel like you need to comfort him, and you hate that. You hate that you even asked him to share information with you in the first place.
You've never been good with people.
"I need to test you."
Thankfully, he understands. He seems to register again that even though he's in your home, you're still complete strangers. He can't expect much from you in the form of consolation.
It feels silly when you ask him to smile wide for you— like you're the fucking dentist. But he listens without protest, hooking a finger into his cheeks and pulling, giving you a clear view of each tooth.
It's not a pretty sight.
Teeth stained yellow, his foul breath wafts into your face making you recoil quickly. In retrospect, that is to be expected. These people haven't been home in who knows how long, traveling with nothing but the clothes on their backs.
Still, the expression on your face is clearly one of disgust as you're unable to stop the instinctual reaction that overcomes you.
You're sure he had good hygiene before the apocalypse. One look at him and you feel like you can picture the man he used to be. Dry cleaned suits, probably ironed each morning. Gelled hair and expensive cologne.
The embarrassment is evident on his face and you almost feel bad again. But then you remember that there's nothing you can do but let him hide out here for the time being.
"Okay, thanks," you mumble, turning from him. You already feel drained.
Just one more, you tell yourself as you cross the room again, stopping in front of the other couch.
He stares at you but he doesn't speak. He waits for you to address him first, and it's clear he's not as willing to offer up information about himself.
"And you?" You do a slow scan of the man before you, from dark circles under his eyes and the tattoo across his nose, all the way down to the worn out boots on his feet. "What's your story?"
He's wearing a baggy hoodie that he tugs tighter around him, arms folding across his chest. Your brows knit together when you notice the shiver that runs through him, the way his teeth chatter lightly when he takes a breath before speaking.
"It's not m-much of a story," he starts, stuttering when he trembles as another chill runs through him. "I lived with my brother, one of them, I have two. Or h-had, I guess."
"What happened to them?" You could take a gamble and have a good chance at being right, either the visitors got to him or the sun did, but you ask him anyways. You can never be too sure and even if he says something you expected, he may offer up more information in the process.
"My younger brother, the o-one I lived with, he was taken. FEMA had come by, saying they needed someone, had to run some tests, you know? I-I tried to tell them to t-take me. They wouldn't listen."
Your heart twists in your chest. You've lived on your own for a long time, but his story still hits hard. The longing in his voice, the sorrow swirling in his irises, it all conveys the depth of his emotion in a way you couldn't ignore even if you tried— and you were trying.
It was fucking bleak.
The whole situation you were all in, not just the shit he was telling you. There was just no other way to look at things. There was no positive lens that you could cast over your new reality. There was no space left in your mind to compartmentalize because it was all taken up, filled with endless thoughts of the cataclysm, your food supply, the sun, the heat, the pale visitor.
"And your other brother?"
The man shrugs and holds himself tighter, hands rubbing up and down his arms in a hopeless attempt to warm himself up. "D-don't know. He's lived on his own for a w-while. I tried to text h-him but it didn't go through."
"And what have you been doing since? Before you got here."
"N-nothing really. I stayed home until FEMA kicked us all out. I stayed with some people f-for a day or so but I don't r-remember much more than that…" He trails off, expression vacant as you assume he tries to recall the last few days. "Just wandered I guess, until n-now."
It's definitely not the most iron-clad story of his whereabouts, but it's not necessarily unbelievable. Trauma will do that to a person, fuck with their head, mess with their memories, leave them feeling confused and uncertain.
You have to tread carefully.
You have to decide when to trust and when to be skeptical, when to back off and when to pull the trigger. You can feel your heartbeat accelerating as the stress begins to settle in. You hate this. All the decision making, the knowledge that real lives are on the line, weighing in the balance as you consider each side.
"Okay," you sigh. You're tired of questioning for today, except for one last inquiry. One last curiosity that you haven't been able to stop thinking about. "Are you cold?"
Something rustles behind you and you imagine it must be the blonde man shuffling in his seat. No doubt he's been eavesdropping, probably wondering the same thing and waiting for you to bring it up.
He hesitates, apprehension written across his face as he weighs his response, trying to decide how much to reveal to you. "Y-yes. I'm always cold now." Sorrow is written into his words, his head hanging low once more as he stares at his feet. "No matter what I do, I c-can't get warm."
"Even with all this heat from the sun?"
He shakes his head lightly. "No, the sun burns me but its heat does nothing."
"Weird," you mutter, more to yourself. Then you remember what you were really there to do and clear your throat, drawing his gaze back up to you. "I need to test you."
"Alright. What do you want to check?"
You suppose you'll keep your tests the same for the two of your guests. "Your teeth, I guess."
Using his fingers, he pulls his cheeks apart to give you a good view of them. They're pearly white, straight and even. This time a chill runs down your spine, goosebumps littering your skin. You think back to the news reports, the pictures of the perfect, white teeth that they said are a sign of visitors.
Your fingers grip the shotgun tighter as a million thoughts race through your head.
Should you shoot him now? Or wait and see if he has any other signs? But what if you leave him be and then he kills you and the other guy? No, you should kill him now. Even if he's a human it's better safe than sorry. Right? Although, weren't you just thinking about how dumb these signs are in the first place? How inaccurate the information seems to be?
Maybe it's a bit too paranoid to shoot someone based off of a nice set of teeth. Maybe he had a spectacular orthodontist.
Your heartbeat drums in your ears as you take a deep breath, willing the poor muscle to slow down before it burns itself out.
"Well?" The man's voice pulls you back to the present. He's staring up at you, waiting for your decision and you finally loosen your grip, letting your shoulders sag as you let out a long sigh.
"You've got some white teeth, that's for sure."
"Thanks," he mumbles, "I think."
He pulls his feet up onto the couch. Hugging his legs and resting his chin on his knees, he curls up in the corner and it's clear he's closed you out now. You know that you'll get nothing more from him today.
That's all you have the energy for. The whole ordeal was surprisingly exhausting, and you decide to head straight to bed. You're still adjusting to this new routine. You only find yourself awake during the day for a few hours at a time, and after that you sleep until the sun sets.
You feel a bit more confident in your decisions when you rise again. The moon is already hanging high, but everyone in your house is alive and well. You can hear them when you press your ear up to the door— the tell-tale shivering and the sound of pages flipping in a book.
You check the windows again, peeking around the curtains or through the blinds, not wanting to miss anything important. A wave of relief washes over you when you find the views empty. Just the same burnt field and vacant dirt roads, no strange creatures or four-armed visitors waiting to meet your gaze through the glass.
But then the knocking comes. Five hard raps against the wood, each one louder, harsher than any you've heard before.
You don't need to look through the peep hole to know who, or what, is standing on your porch. The sinking feeling in your stomach is enough of a warning as to why you didn't see the pale visitor through your window.
He's already at your front door.
yay finally finished part 2! i hope u guys enjoyed. shoutout @seventasia for beta reading 𖹭
guys ik i’ve asked this before but i wanna double check — im almost done with uni (ik 3 years is insane) would yall still be interested in my writing 😭 i have a lot of ideas and other shows or whatever i wanna have fun with writing for and i wanted to know if yall would still be down to read it ?!
ik i write for myself but i love to see others enjoy my work just as much and id love to start doing requests again, im gonna have a whole lot of free time on my hands ☘️
⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆older bf!leon fucks passionately you in the back of his car >_<
cw: smut, p in v, creampie
426 words.
The backseat of Leon's Porsche Cayenne smells like leather, cigarette-smoke and him. The windows are fogged to shit, streetlights spilling orange across your bare skin as he pounds into you deep and mean from behind.
One of his big hands clamped around your mouth, not necessarily because anyone's around to hear, but because he likes the way your muffled moans vibrate against his palm. "Fuckin' noisy tonight huh?" Leon rasps against your ear. His hips snap forward, cock splitting you into two with one brutal stroke, thick head kissing your cervix. You choke on a whine, back arching, trying to push back for more even though it's too much.
He's so mean with it :(( doesn't bother with sweet nothing's, just spreads your thigh wider with his knees, angling his pelvis so every thrust drags the fat ridge of his cock against that spot that makes your eyes roll. Your cunt flutters helplessly around him, slick dripping down your inner thigh.
"Greedy little pussy." Leon mutters, sounding almost tender, "suckin' me in like she's scared I'll pull out."
He does pull out—slow and deliberate, just to watch your hole clench around nothing. You whimper into his palm as your hips jerk pathetically. Leon chuckles and then slams back into you so hard the car rocks.
Your palms slap hard against the fogged window for leverage, fingerprints smearing the condensation. He reaches around, rough fingerprints finding your clit, rubbing fast messy circles making your thighs shake.
"Gonna cum again?." He taunts, breath hot on your neck. "Already came twice on my cock like a good girl. Think you got one more in ya doll?"
"Yesyesyes-" you nod desperately, words lost somewhere between sob and moan.
"Shittt, there it is." Leon growls as you start to squeeze around him. Your whole body spasming so tight he hisses between his teeth. "Squeeze me just like that-fuckk yes-"
He buries his cock to the hilt and finally cums, flooding your cunt with thick ropes of semen. His hand finally slips from your mouth so he can grip your jaw instead, tilting your head back to kiss you sloppy and possessive as he grinds through the aftershocks making sure you get every last drop.
When he finally pulls out a thick trickle of cum follows, dripping onto the leather seat. He smirks at the mess, smacks your ass once then drags you back against his burly chest.
"Still breathin' doll?"
You manage a shaky nod, thighs quaking.
"Good." He kisses the side of your neck, "cause I’m not done yet."
