the world is truly desolate, but it's still not safe at night. realizations are made. allies are come upon.
divider by @/saradika-graphics | brainworms by @/saintshigaraki :)
part 1 | part 2
Sukuna leads, Uraume follows. You walk in the middle, through miles of gunmetal, asphalt road. You’ve always liked walks, liked being with your thoughts and your music. This is no different– though there is no music and no ill-advised noise cancellation. It’s just you, and your thoughts. Your compatriots are blessedly silent.
There’s no telling if that’s actually a blessing, not when you can only hear yourself. Your medicine has kicked in for long enough, so the voices are at bay, but your conscience still speaks to you clearly: find the obsidian knife, go into the woods, into the water, and never come out.
The sky is still a dim red and the air is still not pure from all the fires that have raged from the bombs dropping. Who knows when the air will be pure again. You can feel it in your lungs with every step, like you’re walking through mild second-hand smoke.
The three of you are silent as you head towards the farm that Uraume had come back speaking of. According to them, there was still living livestock. Miraculously.
There was even a horse, Uraume had said. There was a horse.
How funny if this is how you own a horse. The world had to end to fulfill your childhood dream.
The one thing that you do like about Uraume is their insistence that, while society was in the shit, society of some sort had to be reformed. They thought it was all important that Sukuna take a header on that– rumblings are already beginning as people hoard gasoline and freshwater.
You miss indoor plumbing. You haven’t showered in days, you’re sure you reek, but you’re sure the two alongside you reek as well. You’ve been applying deodorant, been using makeup remover wipes, but to no avail. You had just installed a bidet in your apartment, too.
You’d give anything to be clean.
“How’d you end up on your own, anyways?” Sukuna asks, falling back to walk by your side. He interrupts you from your thoughts. “I know how I ended up on my own, but what about you?”
“My mom’s on a trip to Machu Picchu right now with my grammy,” you say softly. “I don’t know if they’re alive. And I’ll probably never find out.”
Sukuna hums. He stretches his arms above his head, fingers laced, exposing a bit of his tummy.
“Well, now you have me ‘n’ Uraume,” Sukuna says happily. “Uraume’s like family, in a way.”
Uraume nods at that. “Family is one way to put it.”
Sukuna looks back at him. “More like in a Godfather kind of way, huh?”
Uraume cracks a smile. “Perhaps.”
You don’t want to know. Sukuna regards you as you walk: backpack strapped to your back and fanny pack across your waist. Your henley is tied around your hips, and you wear one of his t-shirts, tucked into your jeans.
You look at your feet when you walk, he notices. Like you’re unsure of your next step. It’s strange, walking along the highway with deserted cars. As if the bombs dropped and time just… froze. Everyone panicked. No one thought to drive home.
In your work boots, your feet are sore. You try to push through, you really do, but just as you’re getting off the exit that Uraume promises leads towards this farm, you shake your head.
“I have to stop,” you say, voice a little labored. You stop dead in your tracks and Uraume walks around you. “My feet hurt so bad.”
Your walking shoes are at that abandoned strip mall.
Sukuna turns. “Are you sure?” He stops as well. “We’re almost there.”
Shaking your head, you slowly lower yourself to sit on the asphalt. Tears well up in your eyes and you drop your head, extending your legs straight out. Your head hangs. You cover your face with your hands– you’ve been so good about choking down your tears for the past two weeks and now, under the hot sun, they’re coming to fruition.
“We have to make it before nightfall,” Uraume says, impatient. Sukuna holds his hand up to stop him, watching you closely.
That sends you over, entire body shaking with the strength of your tears. You keep yourself hidden in your hands. You aren’t going to make it. You’re not going to make it before nightfall, and they’re going to leave you, and you’re going to get murdered for that fucking vape in your fanny pack but you’ll probably get raped first and–
Sukuna squats down beside you and lays his hand on your shoulder. You drop your hands and look away, screwing your mouth into a watery frown as you try to stop crying.
“[First],” he says, soft and firm.
You look over at the use of your real name, meeting his gaze. Not doll, not a patronizing princess. [First]. His eyes are such a fiery, dark brown. Blinking a few times, the last of your tears fall and you wipe them away.
“We have to make it to the farm before dusk,” he says, tone unwavering. “You have to make it to the farm before dusk.”
You swallow thickly. “I don’t think I can. I–” Fresh tears. “There’s no fucking point.”
“Was there any fucking point before?” Sukuna asks.
You nod. “I had– I had my family, I had my hobbies, I had my students, I had– I had my cats–” You cut yourself off with another set of sobs, hiding your face once more.
Sukuna takes a knee beside you, a little hesitant. Then, he wraps his arms around you, and that makes you cry harder.
“You’ve got to find something new, then,” he says, looking behind him at Uraume. Then, he looks straight ahead again. “Remember Uraume said there was a horse there? Cows? I bet they need help. Your help.”
“I’m not a vet,” you mumble into your hands.
Sukuna sighs. “That’s not the fucking point. Listen,” he releases you from his hold and squeezes your shoulder. His brief dip into nice reassurance has run its course. “We cannot stop here.”
“My feet hurt so bad,” you whine. “I think I’m getting a blister, we’ve been walking for miles.”
Sukuna reaches forward and unclips the little strap of the backpack that goes across your upper chest. He then pulls your backpack off your shoulders, and you scramble to grab it from him.
“What are you doing?” You ask, frantic.
“Uraume,” he says, standing up. He’s leaving you. Oh my god, they’re going to leave you, without anything. “Carry this.”
“Of course,” Uraume says, coming to take the backpack. They saddle it on their front.
Sukuna regards you coolly. You meet his eyes, practically able to see him figuring out what to do.
“If you’re going to leave me, kill me first,” you say, reaching up to take a fistfull of his cargo pants. You’ll die here, it’ll be fine– your body will be left behind and you’ll have a bullet wound in your brain; Sukuna shot that guy in the superstore with such precision anyways. It’ll be painless. Painless, easy, an escape from the inevitable.
Sukuna smiles, then breaks out into a laugh.
“Absolutely not,” he says, kneeling back down beside you. He looks up and down your body, debating. Is he going to take his time with killing you? Then, making his mind up, he slides a hand under your knees, an arm around your back, and lifts you up. Like it’s nothing. A little gasp leaves your lips.
Without thinking, you wrap your arm around his neck.
“I got you for a mile,” Sukuna says. “My poor baby.”
Sukuna carries you the rest of the way. The farm has this long, winding driveway of gravel and this large, metal gate on a large, wooden fence that Uraume pushes open. For a moment, fear comes over you. What if it’s not abandoned? What if there are still people here? Were there still people here and Uraume killed them? Murdered them in cold blood?
The three of you approach the house that sits upon a hill. It’s old and weathered, painted a yellow that peels with dark green shutters that look worse for wear. There’s a wrap-around porch, and further back, there are pastures with cows and horses. You count five cows and three horses.
The front door swings open, and a man with a shotgun fills the space. He’s mid-forties, maybe early fifties, dressed in flannel and jeans. Your heart freezes.
“What are you doing here?” He asks, gruff. He’s wide across his shoulders.
“We’re just looking for some shelter,” Sukuna says, smiling.
“You’ll get none here,” the man says gruffly.
“Is that right?” Sukuna glances over at Uraume. “We’ll be taking shelter here tonight.”
The black-hiared man in the doorway looks the three of you over. The screen door rests against his shoulder. Behind him, the house is swathed in blackness, in cool shadow. “Are you exposed?”
“Exposed to what? The radiation?” Sukuna figures. “No.”
He comes down a few steps, screendoor snapping shut, his eyes falling on you. You look weak, laid in Sukuna’s arms, with your pack clearly on Uraume.
“What’s wrong with her?” He asks.
“Her feet hurt,” Sukuna says.
The man takes a moment. He frowns deeply, then sighs. “She hasn’t been bit, has she?”
“There aren’t zombies,” Sukuna says, taking a step forward. “C’mon, be reasonable.”
“You seen the fuckin’ coyotes?” The man asks, shaking his head. “They’re fucking rabid like I’ve never seen.”
“Let me put her down,” Sukuna says, taking a step forward. “She’s my wife.”
He ignores the way you tug on the back of his hair. Uraume has shaved Sukuna’s undercut and his beard when it needs tending to, using a straight razor. He’d offered their services up to tend to your body hair, but you weren’t trusting them within an inch of your life with something so sharp.
The man swallows thickly, then lowers his weapon. This title, of wife, seems to have some nostalgic sway over him. He nods a few times, shaggy black hair falling over his face.
Turning, he heads back inside the house.
“Bring her in.”
Sukuna turns, mean glint in his eyes, as he looks at Uraume. Then, he follows the man inside.
The farmhouse is quaint. It opens to the living room and dining area, with old furniture that seems to be passed down from generations. Or thrifted. One or the other.
Sukuna gently lays you down on the couch in the living room with a little shushing sound, as if you needed to be comforted. You want to protest, claim that you’re fine, that your feet are just a little blistered– they’re still used to monthly pedicures– but you have a feeling this is an angle that you have to play.
“What do they call you?” Sukuna asks the homeowner.
“Fushiguro,” the man says. “Toji.”
Sukuna nods. He introduces his entourage, making sure that when he says your name he runs his hand over the top of your head. Soothing.
This Toji nods. “So, you come from the city?”
Sukuna nods in return. He takes a seat on the couch, moving your legs to be in his lap, and eases off those new workboots. They’re pretty broken in by now.
“They just bombed the shit out of it,” Sukuna says. “What do you mean by the coyotes being rabid?”
Toji takes a seat on the recliner, letting out a little huff as he does so. He kicks his legs up, letting his gun rest by his side still.
“They’re all foaming at the mouth,” he says, “But nothing like I’ve ever seen before.”
Sukuna hums in interest. He rubs his hand over your socked foot, thumb pressing all over the sole of it to find any blisters. You hiss as he rubs over your pinky toe.
Toji watches with lidded, saccharine eyes. “How long have you been married?”
Sukuna glances over at you. He rubs his hand over your leg, up under your jeans, and squeezes at your unshaved calf. Wordlessly, the two of you debate over whether to lie or not.
“We fell in love after the blast,” he decides upon. He looks at you, softer than you’ve ever seen his gaze. “We’re perfect for each other.”
Toji nods. He takes a deep breath, shoulders moving with it. “Good for you. Good to know love hasn’t died out, truly.” Good to know the world hasn’t descended into eternal nothingness. Not yet.
Sukuna smiles wide. He looks at you, and you think about how with cats you’re supposed to long blink at them to tell them you love them. About how odd it is that humans smile, that they bare their teeth to show they’re pleased. This man under your legs is animalistic.
“Toji,” Sukuna says, drawing the man’s attention to him. “Tell us about your nearby town.”
Bored, Toji looks over. “Why do you want to know?”
Sukuna smiles. “I just think it would be nice to have somewhere to set up a nice, permanent home.”
Toji rakes over Sukuna. He takes in the way you’re looking at him, a little fearful. The way Uraume has still not sat, but stands to the side of Sukuna, still holding their things. He holds Sukuna’s pack in his hands.
“Don’t you think the way the world was simply wasn’t working?” Sukuna asks, leaning against the arm of the couch. He waits for Toji’s answer.
“There’s a lot wrong with the world,” Toji replies, shifting to mirror Sukuna’s stance from his recliner. “Look around us, look where it landed us.”
“I just think it would be nice to have some leadership,” Sukuna says.
“And you’re that leader?” The surmisement of it all is easy.
Sukuna grins too frequently. He holds his hands out, palms up. “You said it, not me.”
“So I bring you to Riverridge. There’s a faction set there already. What are you going to do?” Toji ventures.
“I’m the better option,” Sukuna says, as if it’s the most obvious answer. “I’m certainly more powerful than whoever is currently leading this faction. And people want a strong leader.”
Toji nods slowly. “You’re interesting. What do I get?”
“Why, you get my trust,” Sukuna says. “And that means everything.”
You gently tap your foot against Sukuna’s stomach. He looks down at you, soft in his eyes. “Yes, doll?”
“I’m hungry,” you interrupt. “And really thirsty.”
“Of course you are,” Sukuna says, though it’s the least patronizing he’s sounded all day. He looks to Uraume. “Tend to her.”
Toji watches with very interested eyes as Uraume unloads the bags and goes through them. He produces a water bottle, filled to the brim, and a granola bar. You sit up, though you don’t slide your legs out of Sukuna’s lap, since his grip on your ankle is so firm.
Uraume opens the granola bar for you, then hands it over. You accept it with thanks.
“I have running water,” Toji announces.
Your eyes light up. “You have running water?”
“I’ve got shampoo too. It’s shit, though. You interested?”
You nod excitedly. “Yes, oh my god, yes. Please. I–” You look over at Sukuna.
He smiles at you, all teeth. “We’d waste too much water together.”
Your breath is steady in, shaky out. You nod.
Toji groans, standing up. “Let me show you where you can put those bags,” he says to Uraume. “I’ve got a guest room, y’all can decide how you want to share it.”
“Sukuna and [First] can have it,” Uraume says with no hesitation. He picks up all the bags once more. “I can sleep outside their door.”
Toji’s eyes on them carries veiled curiosity. “You can have the couch. Just follow me.”
He leads Sukuna’s right hand out of the living room and down the hallway. Sukuna turns his body to have one knee between your legs. You demolish the granola bar, neatly fold the wrapper up, and drink a good bit of water.
Pride wells in Sukuna’s chest. “I’m sure we can have a real meal tonight,” he says. “Get you something good, something filling.”
“I can’t wait to shower,” you say. “I’d like to shave.”
“Uraume can shave you. Remember, they don’t give a shit about bodies.”
You furrow your brows in disbelief. “The world has ended, and you think I’m going to: 1) shave my bush and 2) let Uraume anywhere near me with a blade of any sort? Please, they don’t even like me that much.” You count each point off on your fingers.
“They like who I like,” Sukuna says. He props his arm up on the back of the couch, resting his head on his fist. “So you keep a bush.”
“I thought we were married,” you say, sitting up a bit and drawing your legs up. You move to sit on your knees, and press a hand on Sukuna’s chest. You can feel how his heart quickens under your palm. “You shouldn’t be surprised by this information.”
“We haven’t consummated our marriage yet,” Sukuna reminds you, placing his hands on your hips. He looks up through a lidded gaze. “How was I supposed to know?”
“Don’t you know everything?” You ask, softly. You give Sukuna a smile, your lidded gaze on him turning rational as Toji and Uraume reenter the room.
“I do,” Sukuna says, his hands traveling down to wrap around the tops of your thighs and giving you a good squeeze. He then pats your thigh. “Go shower, get something comfortable on.”
Your pyjamas, you think. He’s asking for your pyjamas.
While you wish you had clean clothes to change into, the pyjamas are as clean as you’re getting. They only really ever saw the inside of the sleeping back or the floor of the abandoned strip mall. Never outside.
“Follow me,” Toji says, leading you back towards the guest bathroom. He pulls down a worn-looking towel and washcloth, then shows you the knobs. Very standard. “Just turn it off when you’re not actively using it. Washing your hair, your body, just use it to get wet and rinse.”
You nod, thanking him profusely. There’s a set of shampoo and body wash in the shower already.
You leave to grab your pyjamas and your hairbrush, returning to the bathroom. You disrobe, then step into the shower. You don’t wait for the water to heat up before you’re stepping under it, letting it slide over you. Immediately, you wet your hair, then your body, and then shut the water off.
Already, dirty and grime trail off your body and slip down the drain.
You wash your hair three times to make sure all the grease is gone. You pass your body twice with the washcloth. Then, when you’re all done, you stand under the spray for just a hair longer than you probably should, before shutting it off and drying off. There’s no lotion in the bathroom, but you ignore it. Instead, you slide into your pyjamas, brush your hair out and then dry it how you would at home: scrunching it up to keep your curls from looking flat.
Padding back out, Sukuna and Toji are deep in conversation about sports. Sports. There had been a big game, or something, right before the blast. Both men are talking amicably about it– about the pitches, about the screwball, about the crowds.
“I hope we get baseball back soon,” Toji murmurs. He casts a longing look towards his TV, this modest and flat device on a small table against the wall. “I’d settle for the radio.”
“Me too,” Sukuna agrees, his eyes flicking towards you as you reappear.
Uraume quickly gets off the couch, instead choosing to sit on the floor in front of the fireplace, hands neatly folded in their lap.
Sukuna holds out a hand to you, and you take it. He tries to pull you down on top of him but you resist.
“I’m clean and you’re dirty,” you protest.
“You look beautiful,” he says, earnestly. “Is it so wrong I want you close?”
You blush at his words. “I guess not, but–”
“Exactly,” Sukuna tries tugging again, but you still resist, instead coming to sit down next to him. You draw your legs up and lean against the arm rest. What you do afford Sukuna is the pleasure of your bare feet resting against his thigh.
Sukuna rests his hand over your feet, thinking as he looks at where you’re skin to canvas pant. He then looks over at you. “You want some lotion, doll?”
You flick your eyes over to him. Scan his eyes. “We don’t have any.”
Sukuna grins. He looks over at Toji. “You must have lotion.”
Toji’s quiet for a moment. Then, he stands, heading down the hall.
“This is good for us,” Sukuna muses, to both you and Uraume. He then looks to you. “You want that moisturizer you picked up?”
“Oh! Yes.”
Sukuna doesn’t even need to cast his gaze over at Uraume before they’re scrambling to get it from your backpack.
This is nice. You could get used to this. You look over at Sukuna, pleased.
“Good for us,” Sukuna says, this time just to you, voice low.
“I can tell,” you murmur.
Toji reappears with the lotion, handing the large tub over. You reach for it, but Sukuna grabs it first. He pumps out some in his hand then warms it up by rubbing it together on his palms.
“I can do this,” you protest, but it’s light.
“Your feet hurt,” Sukuna says, as if it’s obvious. “And, remember, you’re my wife.”
You relent. Sukuna’s fingers are diligent as he rubs into your feet. And you’re on a couch, maybe you’re deciding which movie to watch and you’re going to have a beer and dinners in the crockpot and—
“That’s a nasty blister,” Sukuna says, lightly touching your pinky toe. The blister has only grown since you took off your socks and shoes.
“Don’t touch it,” you say, pulling your foot back.
“Let me pop it,” Sukuna says, grabbing your foot more firmly around the arch.
“No!” You say quickly. “It has to heal!”
“You’ve got to be able to put on your boots,” Sukuna says.
“You can pop it in the morning, you freak,” you say, pulling your feet back and away from him.
Sukuna laughs. “You promise?”
“Oh my god,” you roll your eyes and scoot over to your side of the couch. Uraume hands you the moisturizer, which you happily apply. It feels like heaven against your sensitive facial skin. You take the lotion from Sukuna and begin to apply it more seriously to your body: on your arms, on your legs. Then, you look over at Toji. “I saw you have horses.”
Toji nods. “They’re not technically mine. I keep ‘em for the fairs and shit.”
“What are their names?”
“Thousand Miles, Playful Cloud, and Split Soul,” he says. “They’re good horses.”
“I love horses,” you say softly. “I’d love to go out and see them.”
“Maybe when you’re not all clean and comfortable,” Sukuna says before Toji can even respond. “You’ll get dirty out there.”
“I’ve been dirty with you this entire time,” you frown.
Sukuna smirks. “No you haven’t.”
“You’re disgusting,” you say, crossing your arms firmly. You look back at Toji, hopeful. “Maybe in the morning?”
“Fine by me,” Toji says. He yawns, big and loud. “‘M gonna go feed the animals ‘fore dinner.”
Your hopeful look doesn’t fade. “You have real food?”
Toji examines you, then Sukuna. Uraume seems content with keeping to themselves. He stands, stretching to crack his spine, his sizing up oh your trio complete.
“Sure. Just don’t forget it,” Toji says.
“If you set it out, I can cook,” you offer.
“That won’t be necessary,” Sukuna interjects. He looks to Uraume. “Get her book-thing and that vape.”
Uraume nods and stands, heading to the guest room without a second thought. Taking this into consideration, Toji excuses himself to his solace of farm chores.
For a while, the three of you sit in the living room in silence. Uraume appears to be meditating, their eyes closed and breathing metered. You have your little ereader. Sukuna chiefs on the vape, before he groans in frustration and tilts his head back, closing his eyes. The nicotine buzz from that thing is gnarly– it causes your head to spin when you hit it back to back too frequently, but maybe because that’s due to the fact you rarely hit it. Sometimes, when you’re driving to work and you have your Dunkin, you hit it the entire ten minute drive from shop to school.
Then you sit in the parking lot, take a Xanax, and wait for your head to stop spinning.
Have you mentioned that you’ve always had poor coping strategies?
Sukuna stands, stretching his arms up above his head. Now that you’re clean, he does reek. You pinch your nose for good measure.
“Go shower,” you tell him.
“Coming with me?” He asks.
“Maybe Uraume will join you,” you say, not looking up from your book.
Sukuna laughs. He fiddles with the slide on the bottom of the vape to turn it off. “I’ll be right back.”
Then he’s down the hall. You can hear him as he moves about, as he gets out a change of clothes and opens and closes closet doors looking for towels. You can hear the shower turn on, and the groan of relief.
Then, it’s back to your book.
Dinner is in fact real food. It’s interesting, eating at a dining table after eating on the floor out of cans for so long. It’s a cut of steak and rice, with some fresh green beans. You notice that Toji’s piece matches Sukuna’s in size, while yours and Uraume’s are a bit smaller.
You don’t mind. As long as real food enters your body.
Sukuna carries light conversation with Toji, mostly questions about the town and his farm. Toji, however, keeps to himself but does know some people in the area. He knows a hearty amount of town gossip for someone who appears to be a recluse.
“The sheriff is the one that’s taken over,” Toji says. The steak is buttered. “He’s nothing to write home about, though. He’s well liked, but he’s weak. It would do you good to get him to like you. Or don’t. Whatever way you want to go.”
Sukuna hums as he thinks it over. He likes his steak a little too rare for your tastes.
“I’ve got a lot to think on,” he says, then glances over at Uraume. “Perhaps we can go on a walk tonight.”
“That would be enjoyable,” Uraume says.
“You’re not going to sit here and eat my food and leave me out of this plan,” Toji says, deep-set frown on his face. He’s got a scar on the corner of his mouth, which looks like it was nasty at one point. Perhaps a fishing accident. Deep sea.
Sukuna raises his eyebrow. He places an elbow on the table, holding his fork lazily. “I don’t think you’re into the kind of stuff we’re into.”
“Try me,” Toji says.
Sukuna grins. He slices off another piece of steak, then pops it in his mouth. He glances over at you, then back to Toji. It’s not that he chews with his mouth open, it’s that he doesn’t chew with it shut all the way.
“I like it when people are scared,” he says, after swallowing. “Of me, specifically.”
Toji laughs at that. “That’s it? You like to scare people?”
“I like to do more than just that,” Sukuna says. He takes a deep breath, lost in thought for a moment. You look across the table, at Uraume. They have a pleased and nostalgic smile on their face as well. Their hair is still a bit wet from their shower. Your stomach flips uncomfortably. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “I like the way blood splatters when tense with fear.”
Toji looks unimpressed. His gaze drops to the other man’s steak before back to his eyes. “So what, you killed animals when you were a kid?”
“Among other things.”
Toji uses his knife to politely pack some rice on his fork. “Who hasn’t killed an animal?”
Me! You want to shout. ME! I haven’t killed an animal! You remain silent– you don’t want your presence at this table to be remembered.
Sukuna reaches over to pat your thigh under the table, dragging you in despite your deepest wishes. He gives you a firm squeeze, then releases.
“I suppose it depends on your definition of an animal,” Sukuna says. “I know my definition of an animal.”
Toji frowns. “You think you’re edgy or some shit? World’s ended and now you have free reign?”
“You know the Crimson Rock Murders?” Sukuna asks, his grin lewd.
Toji leans back in his chair. He has one of those faces that’s simply hard to read. Is that understanding? It’s not realization, he’s not surprised– he’s just piecing the information together. “No shit.”
“Uraume and I have always had an understanding,” Sukuna says with a proud grin.
Realization dawns on you. The room shrinks in on you, and you have to get out.
“I’m going to be sick,” you say, suddenly standing and racing for the front door, yanking it open. You make it to the bottom step before you’re throwing up all that good, healthy food you just ate. The food leaves your body before the screen door has time to snap itself shut.
Sukuna’s laughing in the dining room; you can hear it through the screen door.
You just learned all about the Crimson Rock Murders. A group of your students had done their project on it (all about seeing how evidence comes to support a concluding argument), and you’d been in horror reading about it. An alleged fifteen people were killed, no rhyme or reason, all different ages. The only thing that drew them together is that they were all killed the same, distinctive way: torn limb from limb. Torn, too, not cut, not sliced, but the flesh had torn in frayed stands.
“Uraume and I go way back. They took a big fall for me.”
Livers had been missing.
More bile leaves your mouth, sticking to the back of your teeth. You close your mouth, using your tongue to scrape it away and then sputtering it out. With disgust on your face, you look at the mess you’ve made.
There are footsteps on the creaking floors of the house, then the sound of someone sitting down next to you. You don’t want to look over, don’t want to be met with Sukuna’s face–
His hand rests on your shoulder. “I was just having fun, back then. But I’m serious now. Serious about you.” Assurance? Is that his angle? He’s so hot-and-cold, though it’s more like hard-and-soft. You never know what you’re going to get, you haven’t finished your theory.
Currently, he is soft to you. He’s somewhat soft to Uraume, but there’s too much of a power dynamic there for him to be soft. He’s hard to the world. Or is the world hard to him?
You shake your head in response to his question. He offers you a glass of water.
“How could you?” You ask, face still twisted in disgust and disbelief. You take a swig of water, swishing it around your mouth before spitting it out atop your regurgitation.
Sukuna raises his eyebrows. “Quite easily.” He leans back on the step, resting his elbows on one behind him. He extends his legs straight out. The woods are silent.
“It’s a good thing to not be afraid of now,” Sukuna says. Killing. He’s talking about killing. But what he did– that was torture. “And, anyways, you’re just like me now.”
“I am nothing like you,” you say instantly.
“Oh? Tell me again how you handled that man,” Sukuna says.
You turn to look at him. He looks so relaxed on this stoop. His shirt rides up a bit, exposing a peek of skin above his waistband. It reminds you of the summers, the long days and short nights, the conversations on stoops to watch the lightning bugs bounce around the warm air. Beer in your hand. Stomach full of hotdogs and hamburgs, cheap pickle relish, dandelion-yellow mustard and blood-red ketchup.
He raises the eyebrow that can move. It’s clear that he intends to raise both.
“Am I wrong?”
“I wouldn’t do it again,” you say resolutely.
“Oh, yes you would,” Sukuna says. He nods his head back, towards the group inside. “That man. Toji, say he creeps in our room in the middle of the night with the intent to ravish you. What are you doing?”
You blink at him.
“You’re there,” you say. The only logical conclusion. “What are you doing?”
Intrigued, Sukuna tilts his head to the side. He smirks. “I’m there? Your plan of maintaining your modesty is me?”
Frustrated, you huff and look away from him. It’s twilight now, the countryside should be abuzz, especially since the wildlife has all had to move away from certain areas due to wildfires.
Sukuna sits forward. He wraps his arm around your shoulders, and leans in to whisper in your ear. His breath is warm. He smells like steak and butter and beer.
“I’m taking your crowbar, and I’m bashing his face in until he’s unrecognizable," he starts. “Then, I’m taking him out back and using the horses to pull his body limb from limb. I’ll feed him to the hogs.”
He presses a soft kiss to your cheek.
He stands.
“Or maybe, I’ll do it in reverse order. But at some point, I’d bash his face in… with a crowbar. An homage to my wife.”
Sukuna heads back inside, his sick and twisted version of a love letter lingering in the stale, distantly smoky air. You sit there, on the stoop, and look out towards the driveway, down it, to the road, which feels like the horizon. The road would eat you alive. The old way of life, with the flying birds and the aching blue sky, feels miles away.
thank yall for leaving such amazing and sweet comments + tags ilysm it truly keeps my momentum going hehe <3
sorry to be an overly sensitive weirdo or whatever but going into the notes of posts about how badly kids are treated and seeing tag after tag of people being like “reminder that you don’t have to like kids or want to be around them or deal with how they are uniquely loud/irritating/stupid/reactionary etc etc BUT!!! you should still be nice to them when you have to be around them 😊” makes me seethe. i know that everyone is trying to navigate the world and that interacting with people is complicated and difficult on so many fronts (some of which i understand intimately, some of which i don’t) but the way these people talk about children as if they are an unfortunate addition to society that someone has to suffer through on the rare occasions that they can’t be avoided or ignored betrays so much baggage about them as a class of people that i don’t think anyone commenting those (well meaning!!!) things is unpacking. i’m sorry but i don’t think you should go out of your way to avoid kids any more than you should go out of your way to avoid any other kind of person, and your perception of kids as people who it is acceptable to brush past in day-to-day interactions is also contributing to minimizing their personhood, albeit in a much less clearly harmful way than is usual.
Hey guys! Sorry for being MIA for the last 2 months, this semester genuinely sucked the whimsy and joy out of me but I took my last final today, so I’m free!!!!
I’ll be posting about my WIPS and I’ll start posting them hopefully soon:) so happy to be back!!!!
