on top of a hill with you, the sky was lit in shades of red and gold
pairing: ryomen sukuna x reader
starring: ryomen sukuna | reader
settings: alternate universe | sukuna is a student studying at jujutsu high | sukuna is somewhat behaving | sukuna is confused with the new human traditions, someone has to help him adjust | sunshine x grumpy trope
Sukuna tilted his head to the side as fireworks began their journey in the sky as singular strings only to fall down in a multitude array of red, purple and gold. After being sealed for more than one century, he missed a lot of human inventions. One of them included fireworks.
Upon knowing that, (name) also known as that 'brat' (affectionally, not that Sukuna would ever admit to it), took it upon herself to bring Sukuna to see the fireworks on top of a hill overlooking the sea. She claimed that the fireworks launching by the harbour were far more spectacular than those being released near the school. He deserved the best of shows. Or so she claimed. The girl seemed to always be conveniently forgetting that he was a murderer, a merciless sorcerer killer. And yet, her gaze never faltered from his red ones. She held her head high when everyone else was bowing to him in submission, praying that he wouldn't chop their heads off for every word that escaped their mouths. Everyone walked on thin ice around Sukuna. Despite his vow to not kill anyone, he was still feared amongst sorcerers. And he liked to keep it that way. Until that foolish brat came along, dared to smile sweetly at him, naively introduced herself as his new classmate as if he was a mere human sorcerer attending Jujutsu High and not the King of Curses masquerading as a student for the sake of his own entertainment and to cure his boredom with the people of this generation.
To him, the fireworks were nothing spectacular. They were just overrated explosives meant to look pretty. A way for humans to break from their routines of 9-5 by celebrating another incoming year filled with 9-5 shifts again. Another year to live by society's rules. There was truly nothing glorious about celebrating a new incoming year that will be filled with the same lifestyles even when (name) claimed the opposite.
"We make New Year resolutions before the clock turns to 12 00. On a piece of paper, you write your wishes for the next year. Come on, Sukuna! Is there anything you want to add on your bucket list?"
Sukuna pondered over the question for a minute. There was nothing much that he didn't do on a whim. Anything he wanted, he made sure to get within the next minute or hours if it was a long process.
"Kill everyone?"
(Name)'s mouth gaped open. Her eyes were comically wide open. For a minute, Sukuna thought he finally struck fear in that foolish human.
"You can't wish that! It needs to be a positive change!"
That girl was truly weird. She didn't scold him for his 'New Year resolutions'. He might have been a bit creeped out by her trust and faith in him to be honest.
"What should I wish for then? There is nothing I cannot get in this world."
"Well, I cannot tell you what to wish. It must be something you genuinely want."
The conversation was changed soon after. However, he did see her scribbling something on a yellow post-it note with her red coloured pen. He saw a faint "2024 resolutions" written on top of the paper. He only shook his head. Foolish human.
And now, as the fireworks exploded in the sky filling the darkness with some colours, he turned his head towards (name) only to notice that she had her eyes closed, head bowed with hands in a praying position. 'She must be making her New Year's Resolutions.'
A moment passed before another firework broke down in the sky. This time, it was a golden one. He watched as the colours reflected on her skin. She would look beautiful in gold. And red. Like a firework in the sky, the vision of her dressed in a white shiromuku with an innocent grin gracing her face as her eyes twinkled with happiness, was quick to appear and quicker to fade.
As if on cue, (name)'s eyes slowly opened. She turned her head to the side to look at Sukuna.
"Did you make a wish Sukuna?"
He turned his head away from her to look at the fireworks once again.
"Yes."
A red and golden light lit up the sky.
"Let's come here again next year, (name)."
Happy New Years everyone! I pray that 2024 brings you health, peace, happiness and prosperity.
I can't access the prequel to the phantoms of the past:(( Anyway you can help me?? I rlly wanna read the full story b4 the sequel drops:(
Hey sorry about that! I didn't know that the links to some of the stories were not working. Anyway, the prequel for phantoms of the past are these one: Unconditional Kindness, followed by Beautiful Mistakes. They can be read in this order if you want but they can be read as a standalone as well.
inspiration: heavily inspired by The Hunger Games
starring: ryomen sukuna | female reader
pairing: sukuna x reader
warnings: violence| death of minor characters
setting: alternate universe | hunger games universe
previous
Ten minutes. That was the amount of time allocated to tributes to spend with their family before they are whisked away to the train leading to their deaths. As if ten minutes would be enough time for a family to say farewell to their sons and daughters.
His mother held him tightly while his father patted him on his back. Ever so awkward, the man was distant in physical affections but eloquent with words.
“I know you will come back to us. Make us proud.”
Of course. His parents knew that their son wasn’t one to back down or to let himself be killed. But they weren’t disillusioned either. Amongst the sea of tributes, there were two districts who would be threats to Sukuna. Despite how cunning the fourteen year old boy, he was the youngest selected tribute this year. He was at a severe disadvantage to the older, more experienced and skilled tributes of District 1 and 2. Still, they believed in him. Because if they lost faith in Sukuna, who would believe in him?
The next one to visit Sukuna had less time with him. She was not family. But she was a friend.
“Only five minutes.”
As soon as the peacemaker closed the door on her, (name) threw her arms around Sukuna, sobs racking through her body as she clutched on him like he was her lifeline. And maybe he was. For once, he didn’t chide her for showing her weakness. Instead, he hugged her just as tightly while kissing the top of her head. Her red ribbon tied her hair in a beautiful french braid that his mother must have helped her with.
“You have to come back. You have to.”
Her words were muffled against his grey coat but he could hear her clearly.
“Brat. As if I was one to back down. I will be returning as victor. So don’t you dare shed a tear while I’m out there. I need my prettiest fan to give me her full support.”
“Your prettiest? How many fans do you have?”
He could hear the pout in her voice amongst her sniffling. His smile was soft. Something that was uncharacteristic of him. And yet, at this moment, he couldn’t care less. It could very well be the last time he ever saw her. As much as he would love to return as victor, he knew the games were ruthless and pitiless. Only the strongest came out of them. And as a child from District 12, and the youngest at that, it was pretty much certain that no-one would really be rooting for him. He would have to fight the hardest to come out alive.
“Time’s up!”
They ripped her away from him. But before she was taken forcefully from him, she closed his fist around something. When the door closed on him, he looked down only to find a necklace with a silver ring dangling off the chain. He recognised it immediately. It was the one she always wore on her right ring finger.
“Come back to me Sukuna. I will make matching ones!”
As an orphan, (name) had to start working since she was young. She couldn’t go to the mines due to her age and her frail form. So instead, she found herself doing some odd jobs here and there. Sukuna was always watching out for the young girl. He was her protector. Everybody in District 12 knew that Sukuna was not afraid of bruising his fists if anybody dared to lay a hand on his promised girl. That was how she was referred to. Sukuna’s promised wife. She didn’t know when the rumours started but Sukuna could care less. As long as it kept away the lecherous men hanging around the Hob, then so be it. She was his promised wife.
The owner of the only jewellery store in District 12 was a friend of the young girl’s parents. She took the young girl in and taught her the crafts. This ring was the first jewellery she crafted. It was originally meant to be his but she got his measurements wrong. The ring was too snug even when he tried it on his pinky finger. With an embarrassed face, she promised to make him another one when she would be more skilled. Still, the ring was oddly hers. It fit her. So, he took her right hand in his, and slipped the ring on her ring finger.
“It’s not an engagement ring. It’s too early for that. But this is a promise to you. As long as I’m here, I will protect you.”
Ever since then, the girl wore the ring religiously. Sukuna proudly held her right hand every time they hung out. It was a slap to the face of the boys in his class. The misfit managed to get a girl before any of them. The girls could only watch with jealousy as the handsome pink-haired teenager showered (name) with attention; treating her as if she was the most delicate flower. When his mother heard about his ‘engagement’ as everyone in their neighbourhood liked to call it, she tugged on his ear and gave him a scolding.
“You are only twelve! What are you thinking? What if this doesn’t work out? What if you two end up disliking each other in the future? You have already made it known that she belonged to you now! No other boys would want to properly court her!”
His father was sitting at the table quietly. The cup placed in front of him had long gone cold. His father was a man who didn’t let his expressions show; he was often compared to the stone-faced peacemakers. A trait that Sukuna inherited from him. In retrospect personality-wise, Sukuna was the most like his father. Physically however, he was the spitting portrait of his mother, inheriting her pink hair and ruby eyes.
“Good. There are no boys who are worthy of her attention in this world anyway.”
“And you think you are?”
His mother shook her head disapprovingly. Her head snapped up to glare at his father.
“And you have nothing to say? Your son is going around, claiming a young girl to be his future spouse.”
“Only one advice Sukuna. The answer is always “yes sweetheart,” irrespective of who is wrong in an argument.”
His mother promptly rolled the daily newspaper and wacked his father over the head with it. To his father’s credit, he at least had the decency to look a bit bashful under the heated gaze of his mother.
Sukuna clutched the ring in his hand and brought it to his lips.
“Watch me (name). I will come back to you no matter who I have to kill.”
He tied the necklace around his neck before hiding it underneath his layers. He would be damned if anyone took that ring away from him.
hii! I really love your sukuna in hunger games au, was wondering if you'd write more about it? (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧
Yes, the hunger games au is meant to be a series (I don’t know how many chapters it will be but it might be concluding at around CH10 or so) so you can expect to see more of Sukuna playing the games and his relationship with the MC unraveling when he is away from her!
inspiration: heavily inspired by The Hunger Games
starring: ryomen sukuna | female reader
pairing: sukuna x reader
warnings: violence| death of minor characters
setting: alternate universe | hunger games universe
previous
It was one slip of paper amongst 100 others.
Sukuna stood amongst a crowd of boys dressed in white and grey. He certainly stood out with his pink hair and red eyes. In a sea of monochrome colours, he was the sun.
His peers feared him. His teachers disciplined him the hardest. He was different. And humans hated different people. In a class of thirty students, he was the black sheep. It didn’t matter how much effort he put in his studies or his projects. It would never be enough in a sea of grey and white.
And yet, there was no one else who could outmatch him in a game of wit. After a hunt, he would always bring back deers during winter; hares during summer. His skills were unmatched. But it didn’t matter at school. In class, he was a disturbance. The troublemaker. He could live with this title. He had four years left in school before he could start working. He didn’t know yet what he wanted to do. But one thing’s for sure, he wanted to do something ludicrous. He wanted to live comfortably. He wanted to provide (name) with a comfortable life where she wouldn’t have to worry about tomorrow anymore. He wanted to make every girl who dared mock her, be jealous of her; want to be her. And to do that, he needed money. He needed to make a name for himself. But not like this.
The Capitol’s representative, a woman with an interesting wig that most probably cost more than both his father and mother ever make in one month, dug her gloved coloured hand in the fish bowl; ruffled the slips to create unnecessary tension and stress. A permanent grin etched on her pink coloured lips. If (name) was by his side, he would have remarked that the lady was the very inspiration to the Red Queen in her favourite book. They would laugh at the comparison later on while stuffing their faces with those black sesame filling buns as promised under the willow tree. They would run across the meadow like children should, worrying only when the announcement for yet another game came. Until they both reach their eighteenth birthdays; both of their names forever disappear from the slips of papers in the fish bowl. They would get married when he would be twenty-four and working, and she would be twenty-two forging pieces of jewelleries to sell to those rich enough to afford. She would wear a beautiful white dress with the red ribbon he gifted her on her tenth birthday attached securely to her hair to make it apparent that she was his and he was hers.
He had a whole life ahead. He had so many things he wanted to do. He still had so many things he wanted to say to (name) still.
“Ryoumen Sukuna.”
Ryoumen Sukuna. The pink haired boy dissociated. It was one amongst one hundredth. What were the odds? Not in his favour that’s for sure. He watched blankly as the sea of monochrome clothed boys parted ways. He never felt more exposed than on that day. He could feel the relief on the boys’ shoulders. Their relieved sighs. Their happy stares because it was not them. The slip belonged to the odd one. The one who never belonged. He shouldn’t have been angry. He shouldn’t have been cursing them one by one in his head, wishing their day would come next year. Because if he was in their place, if another slip was drawn by those fucking ugly gloved hands by that damn Capitol representative, he would have felt relieved as well. It was a dog eat dog world. The bottom feeder was always fodder for the sharks. And right now, he was a bottom feeder as he was led by peacekeepers up the podium to join the crying female tribute to give a salute worthy to be broadcasted all over Panem.
“Sukuna!”
Red eyes widened. (Name) was scrambling outside the crowd of girls. Her arms were outstretched towards him. The peacekeepers grabbed at the hysteric kicking girl. He inwardly seethed as their hands dared to lay on her. But he knew, now that he was a player in the game, he had to be strong for the both of them more than ever. Less she becomes a target for the Capitol.
So, he turns around despite the peacemakers’ digging fingers in his back forcing him to walk forward.
“Brat. I will see you when I come back. Behave until I come back.”
Because he was coming back. With each step he took towards the grinning powder-covered representative, his resolve at surviving these games became stronger. His face became colder; eyes losing the innocent gleam he attended the reaping with. They were now replaced with a strong will to survive. No matter the cost.
“And we have here District 12's male tribute, Ryoumen Sukuna!”
Red eyes focused on the girl with the red ribbon being comforted by his mother. His mother’s face was long. Her tears wouldn’t stop streaming. His father put on his bravest face. But Sukuna knew that behind his façade was a man mourning for the death of his only child. His family was all mourning for him. But he wasn’t dead yet. He wouldn’t die yet. He looked down upon the faces of those he went to school with. Their faces all showed relief and happiness. Happiness that he would finally be gone. He committed each face to memory. His hatred for everyone will be his fuel to victory.
inspiration: heavily inspired by The Hunger Games
starring: ryomen sukuna | female reader
pairing: sukuna x reader
warnings: violence | death of minor characters
setting: alternate universe | hunger games universe
The words were whispered underneath the willow tree on a grey afternoon where the skies seemed to mourn for their fates. It was their tree. He was fourteen when he took out a hunting knife from his belt and started engraving their initials on that willow tree. They were teenagers who didn’t know any better back then. Teenagers who blindly prayed “may the odds be ever in your favour” before his first reaping day. His red eyes gleamed even when the grey clouds cocooned the sun rays. They sparkled like rubies. (Name) was always mesmerised by their brightness. They shone with unadulterated hope and happiness. A happiness that she would fight to protect no matter the costs. This world was cruel. It kept on taking and reaping; never giving anything in return for its cruelty. They both knew that this was Sukuna’s first reaping. This was the first time his name was written on a piece of white paper and thrown into a fish bowl at the mercy of fate’s hands. His name was amongst one of the 100 other boys. What were the chances that the paper would belong to him?
Under the willow tree, on the very first day of his reaping, (name)’s arms had a secure grip on the older boy’s torso. She didn’t want to let him go. Sukuna had a confident grin on his face despite the anxiety in those ruby eyes of his. But he hid it well. All for her sake.
“Why the long face, brat? My name is amongst one of the other 100 or so other brats. Once the reaping is over, we will go and buy this sweet bun that you like so much. Come on.”
And yet, (name) didn’t budge. She had a bad feeling deep in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to throw up the breakfast prepared for them by Sukuna’s mother.
“Brat.”
His eyes softened. Despite being only two years older, at fourteen he towered over the majority of the boys in his year. He could only see the crown of (name)’s head. The boy let out a sigh. He wondered whose name was in the fish bowl. His or hers.
“(Name).”
The girl refused to look up. She knew she was appearing weak right now. Weak and clingy. The very emotions that would get her killed in this world. He took her face in both his hands. As he expected, her eyes were red and puffy. He leaned down to put his forehead against her. A gesture he started when he found her crying around the corner of the Hub after her parents’ funeral. The gesture became a symbol of comfort to the young girl. A sign that Sukuna would always be there for her. That nothing in this world could separate them. That he would always be there for her and protect her. It’s us against the world.
“I’m not leaving you.”
Sukuna’s red orbs starred in hers before drifting down to (name)’s lips. They were red and bloody from worry. The young boy frowned. Without much ado, he leaned and landed a kiss on her lips. It was quick. (Name) barely felt anything. It felt more like something pressed on her lips quickly before retreating. When she looked up at the boy quizzically, it dawned on the girl that this was Sukuna’s first kiss as much as it was hers. His cheeks were as red as his eyes. He refused to look at her. When he felt her stare on him, he became embarrassed. He quickly snaked his arms around her form and forced her head back on his chest to spare him the embarrassment of not knowing how to properly kiss.
The boy was so bashful that (name) couldn’t stop the bubbling laughter escaping her. She could feel Sukuna grumbling under his breath. And yet, there was a smile on his face when he realised that he lifted her mood.
“Brat. Let’s get some buns when this is all finished."
starring: female reader | poseidon is mentioned
pairing: ambiguous
warnings: possible character death | ending is up to readers' interpretations
narration: third person point-of-view
preview:
The Rock on the South West of Cape Sounion, the one at the mercy of those storms and waves, was once the stage to a nymph who was unfortunate enough to catch the temperamental Lord of the Sea’s attention and his wrath by the same occasion. She would sing, perched like a mermaid —not like a siren— on top of the rock and tales of the hero’s Perseus bravery would fall into a melody.
On the south west of Cape Sounion, there was a mass of rock, one that was big enough for small children to play pirates on, close enough to the bay that it is easily accessible by a small boat, but still far enough for parents to worry and ground their children for playing on such an unsafe land.
“How many times have I told you not to take your father’s boat and go on that island with your friends, hmm? What if there was a storm? What would you have done? You could drown! Don’t you realise that?”
The children would then be grounded while grumbling under their breath over how unfair their parents were being. But the warnings of the older generation are rarely founded on unnecessary worry. There was once a story, although like the drawings on the sand, time has washed away some important details that gave the tale a whole different perspective. The one the parents of these children knew went like this:
The Rock on the South West of Cape Sounion, the one at the mercy of those storms and waves, was once the stage to a nymph who was unfortunate enough to catch the temperamental Lord of the Sea’s attention and his wrath by the same occasion. She would sing, perched like a mermaid —not like a siren— on top of the rock and tales of the hero’s Perseus bravery would fall into a melody. The people of Cape Sounion were mostly devoted to the Lord of the Sea, Poseidon. They knew the song was disrespectful to their god. So, to protect themselves from the wrath of their deity, they tried chasing away the nymph. But her stubbornness was her will. She remained there, on that little rock, tales of different heroes accommodated in different songs. For the people of Cape Sounion, so long as it was not one about a certain Cyclopes slaying hero, it didn’t matter much whether the nymph wanted to stay or not. Her stories were entertaining. They were a good companion to the fishermen. A good storyteller to the children who would flock to the bay to hear about the adventures of those who dared leave their home to fulfil a greater purpose. The tales also, ironically enough, dispelled any chants of the sirens flying over the untamed waters for an unsuspecting and desirable meal. The nymph was, in all retrospect, not unwanted, but not wanted either. She was just there, treating that rock as if it was the stage for some play of Dionysos. She was a part of their daily lives, almost a resident of the bay. When one of them passed to the other side, she would mourn with them, craft a different song, one that was created specially for the one who passed, tailored to retell their exploits and lives, as if they were a hero. She immortalised each and everyone of the people into beautiful verses, turning their mundane everyday life into one where each day was an adventure filled with little mishaps just like the mortal heroes who were blessed enough to become gods. To her, the people of Cape Sounion were heroes with untold tales.
However, it turned out that the Lord of the Sea was not as entertained as the people of Cape Sounion were. Children were flocking to the shore as usual, men were getting readying their boat for an early start under the warm sun. The nymph was watching them with inquisitive eyes as the humans all focus on their morning tasks. There was not a cloud in the sky that warned for such a sudden change in the weather. A sudden waved crashed warningly against the shore. The men stopped their ministrations. The waves began slowly receding back, a warning of an incoming tsunami. The men start leaving their nets and boats behind, scooping up any children in sight and running to safety. They could feel the impending fury of Poseidon. His aura was overwhelming. His wrath impartial to wives and children. The men were shouting loudly to get everyone out of their dwellings and to seek shelter on the highest platforms. No one cared to warn the nymph that the god of the sea had finally decided to leave his palace to pay a visit to the bard nymph. But then again, it was to be expected. A god didn’t need to give a warning. Their wrath was loud and like a match, easily lit. Their temper were akin to that of a child, not that anyone would ever dare mention this to them. It was as if they were never taught as toddlers to control their whims and anger. The gods of Olympus, amidst all their powers and wisdom were, in people’s heart, energetic emotional children with the body and abilities of an adult. The Earth and the humans were their playground, somewhere to can do as they please, unleash any frustrations or anger that was in their hearts.
When the coast was deemed clear, the residents of the bay returned to their homes, some to their boats to look for any damages done to their belongings. Luckily there was none. They started the day as they would, although a bit later than usual but it was not like they could go to Zeus and complain to him about his older’s brother temperament disrupting their day (Though, honestly, even if they did go and complain to Zeus, the latter would be able to do absolutely nothing. Poseidon listened to Hades the most, not that the humans knew that).
In their haste to resume their interrupted morning routine, no one noticed the unusual silence surrounding their waters. The children were shouting, reunited with their friends, blissfully unaware of how their lives had a close interaction with death for a split second. It was only when the fishermen were at sea, and that they could hear the tantalising songs of the sirens flying above their head that they realised their mockingbird was not there to shield them from those vultures with women torsos. They shrugged it off.
“The nymph must have been scared.”
This was the reasoning they gave to their wives later that night after the women noted how disappointed the children were when they flocked to the bay only to hear the sounds of the sea gulls and the waves crashing against the shore.
“She will come back tomorrow.”
The next day was filled with the same silence.
“It’s alright, I’m sure she escaped from Poseidon before he descended. She is a clever nymph.”
Four days had passed. One of the fishermen was taken by the sirens. The funeral for that fisherman was filled with silence. No mourning song was uttered from the rock on the south west. No creature related to the gods mourned the death of a father, a husband, and a son. The fisherman who was taken by the sirens was sent off without any sympathy from anyone from Olympus.
Weeks turned into months. Initially, her story was told with a tinge of regret to the next generation of children. But the regret was soon replaced with a cautionary tone. The nymph soon became the muse to scare children in an attempt to prevent them from misbehaving and upsetting the gods, particularly the god of the sea, their patron guardian.
“Do not swear in his name or he will come and get you just like the nymph.”
The tale of the nymph on the south west of Cape Sounion would live on; fight and win against time. Her story became akin to that of the tales of demigods that she was so fond to sing to those willing to listen.
Like a hero, she became a myth. Ever evolving; ever changing. Some nuances were added. Some controversies were created.
“The god of the sea took her and made her his entertainer for eternity.”
“Lord Poseidon was listening to her songs all this time. Jealous of sharing her with the people of Cape Sounion, he decided to take her away to his palace.”
“Lord Poseidon was affronted by her songs about the hero Perseus.”
“The nymph was scared of Lord Poseidon, she knew that the storm was her last warning. So she decided to run away.”
“The nymph was the wife of Lord Poseidon, Lady Amphitrite all along. After one of her husband’s many indiscretions, she decided to take revenge on him by singing about the tales of mortal heroes.”
“Lord Poseidon fell in love with the nymph after hearing her voice. To hide her from his wife’s wrath, he took her somewhere only he knows.”
Her tale changed depending on the intentions of the poet. Sometimes, she was said to have been killed after acquiring the wrath of the god of the sea. Other times, she was a revengeful disguised Amphitrite. Who was the nymph really? No one really knew. No one took the time to know her name. She would forever be a mystery. A tale of a nymph with no name; no identity; no one to mourn her.
But then again, it was easier for those who witnessed the incoming storm and forwent warning the nymph about it to tell a happier version of what happened. This helped quell the guilt in their hearts when they realised that maybe, just maybe, they should have tried getting to know their personal singer and story-teller.
Though, it was too late now. So they told themselves:
“Lord Poseidon fell in love with her voice and her tales. He decided to grant her a place in his palace. She is his favourite entertainer.”
yousharknotpass
tangentwithtanner
gracieabrams
germansingergirl
pixelskylines
snowghoul
