Flickering Lights
Chapter 18 - Wounds and Scars
Chapter 17 I Chapter 19
True form Sukuna x Reader
NSFW I Explicit I Slow Burn
Summary and Tags on Masterpost (please read!)
Sukuna pulls at your legs — and you jolt awake. Exhaustion must’ve lured you into a slumber while rocking on his shoulders. Shit.
The gloomy sight of the grassy field and forest sinks behind his shoulders, as he slides you down his front and shoves you sideways onto the drivers seat.
“Here.” Sukuna grunts and tosses your lost sweater against your dizzy face, flp.
And you scoff, reaching for the damp and cold thing to rip it off your head — just before Sukuna grabs your ankle with his upper left hand, yanking up your wounded foot.
“Ah!” you hiss, flinching in response. It hurts even more.
But Sukuna just spitefully smacks his lips, tightening his grip, and keeps you still. You shoot him a grim look, not knowing what to think of this gesture — but he ignores you and wordlessly clenches his jaw, mustering your sole in the moonlight with three of his eyes, while the fourth one keeps watching you. Digging your nails into your sweater, you blink back and forth between him and your foot. And not a second later, he raises his other hand and picks out a thick, long splinter — quick and without warning, Fzk — “Arh!” you jolt forward. It felt like a razor blade.
“Tsk.” he sneers and flicks the thing over his shoulder, before he presses his thumb into the ball of your foot, just below the wound, making it bleed.
“Stop!” you shout and choke on your breath, trying to yank yourself out of his grip. You kick and pull, again and again, but he doesn’t let go. “You sadistic motherfucker!”
“Oh yeah?” his lip twitches and he ruthlessly presses his thumb even harsher into you, almost through the flesh between your bones. Fresh blood runs down your foot and drips off your heel, coating it in vicious warmth. Sharp like a knife, the pain carves into your foot, pushing tears into your eyelids. You can’t breathe. And you can do nothing.
It hurts so much, so fucking much — until he squeezes out another splinter, fzk.
And you freeze, stunned and stop your movements. Breathless, you look up to his face and notice another drop of blood running down his temple.
“Bitch.” he spits and flicks the chip into your lap, before he turns and heads back into the field.
The pain is throbbing still, but finally numbs and subsides with every second. You inhale sharply, as if the reflex was turned off. With a heaving chest, you calm down.
However, the ever growing lump is back and throbs against your throat.
You blink down to the chip and watch your blood soak into the sweater. A stain.
It makes you feel like an idiot. Worse. Something akin to guilt throbs inside your chest and you look back to him.
Beneath the moonlight, Sukuna’s large figure shuffles through the grass. He almost appears small in this field, alone like that. And you notice his pitch black shadow that follows him on the ground, chained to his feet. Step by step, he keeps his focus on the ground. Almost, as if he’s looking for something inside the light. Why does it make your insides stir?
You try to swallow the lump and turn in your seat. Sticking your foot out of the door, you tap into the legroom, searching for your phone, tap, tap. Nothing. Tap, tap.
Oh! — There, right inbetween the seats, you find it. It must’ve slipped out of your pants during the crash. Luckily, it doesn’t look like it’s broken.
You tap on it and click the button, multiple times, but the display remains dark.
“Shit.” you curse. The battery must be empty.
You sigh, wondering if Mio is okay and finally looked at her phone — or even called the police again — and peek back to Sukuna, who’s slowly walking along the canal, keeping his focus on the weeds that grow there. And you notice how his right hand is clenched into a fist, with his fingers moving slightly, as if he’s pressing them into his palm. Again?
A frown twitches into your features and you blink back to your bleeding foot. It’s so dirty, too. Wait—
You lean over to the passenger seat and open the glove department, clck.
“At least one good thing today…” you mumble and pull out the first aid kit.
Sukuna picks off a stem, frp, and you blink back to him. He smells the buds in his hand and puts them in his mouth, begins to chew. And for some reason, it looks so odd, this sight of him standing there alone in a vast grass field, chewing on some plant like a—
“Beef.” you mumble to yourself, feeling a nostalgic smile hush over the corner of your lips — but you shake your head, purse your lips against the feeling and focus back on the first aid kit.
With a swift motion, you rip a package of disinfecting wipes open and carefully swipe both of your feet clean. Then you take some more and gently tap them on the slits on your ankles, before you attend to the hole in your sole.
It’d be a shame if you get sick...
“Motherfucker.” you hiss and press the wipe on the wound. And it burns like hell. Luckily.
It overpowers those annoying thoughts — and you hold your breath.
One… Two... Three… Four… Five…
Sukuna‘s approaching feet tap into your ear and you exhale sharply, dreading another confrontation. Why can’t you just be an asshole to him like he is to you?
You lean backwards and toss the wipes into the back of the car to escape his return. And without warning, he pulls at your ankle again, making you almost slide off the seat. With his touch so rough and sudden, so dominant, it almost makes you squeak, while the motion lets the fabric of his haori slip up your thighs, now almost exposing your groin.
And your breath hitches, laying there in front of him almost spread for him and now growing aware of his fingers against your skin, too. Tight and just below the slit on your ankles. Goosebumps shiver over your whole body — not just from the cold…
Badum.
You flinch away and clutch onto the things in your lap.
“Stop fluttering.” he growls and keeps you in place, with his lower eyes blinking over to you, before they twitch to your exposed thighs and back to your foot again. You grit your teeth.
Sukuna spits some of the chewed mixture onto his fingers and applies it onto the wound, pat, pat. Almost painless. It only pinches a little. And you wish it would hurt more.
As if he’s done this countless times already, treating wounds with what you can only assume being wild herbs. Something you only knew from stories and movies.
But why does he do this, when he could mend this fatal wound on your throat within the blink of an eye?
Nervously, you watch him, feeling yourself grow stiff. You watch how he keeps chewing and how his jaw is moving, how he’s focused on your wound and how gently he applies it to the scratches he inflicted on both your ankles, too. It should disgust you, shouldn’t it?
Yes.
In fact, it makes you sick. It makes you sick how it makes you feel, how it twists your soul and lets a storm roar inside your chest. How it makes you want to melt and forgive him for his insults. It pisses you off.
What the fuck is he doing? How am I supposed to—
“Enough.” you pull your feet out of his hold and sit up properly, while patting the garment smooth to cover your thighs again. With desire, shame and anger, mixed into a poisonous cocktail.
He lifts his chin and sneers, “How pesky you are.” and spits the remaining mixture onto his fingers.
“You better take care of these feet.” he orders arrogantly and leans closer to his reflection in the window of the rear door. “You’ll need them to walk me home.” he adds, while treating his forehead and eyebrow. And those words pinch your heart.
A pained twitch hushes over your features, but you try to ignore him and focus back on the first aid kit. Clenching your teeth, you cram your fingers inside, searching for patches and bandages. And it’s like they slip through your fingers a hundred times, while his words keep replaying inside your mind. You’re loosing.
“What do you mean?” you finally mumble with a tense look on your face, but keep your focus on the patches and bandages that you keep picking up and putting down over and over again.
“Think, little brat. What could it mean?” he nags and walks past you. “Now, hurry up.”
You frown and let your eyes follow his steps down the road, straight towards a rather worn down little hut in the middle of the village. Too dilapidated for people to comfortably live in, too preserved to be knocked down. Could be a barn or a garage, it’s difficult to tell from the distance.
“Or stay there.” he orders before you can say anything and waves you off. “Good night.”
Good night? Good night??
“It wasn’t…“ you quietly grit your teeth and stubbornly stay in your seat.
You can’t run anywhere now, can you? And you definitely won’t spend the night with him in that. Obviously.
“Prick.”
With a deep sigh, you rip open some patches and carefully apply them on your feet, before you also wrap the bandages around your skin. Just to be sure.
A sudden yawn overwhelms your mouth and your body shivers. The cold bites into your legs and crawls up your thighs. You’re still naked under his garment after all, holding onto your wet clothes and dirty shoes. Disgusting, actually.
And a second later, the lights of the car die down. Oh no.
You turn the key and — nothing happens. Nothing, except this sad little noise that’s wailing up from the motor. A battery so empty, you’ll definitely need external help to get this thing going again. Not to mention the damages on the front. And all of this means, no car heater for you tonight.
“Fucking shit!” you curse, just before a wooden door creaks in the distance.
You narrow your eyes towards the hut and see his silhouette that walks into the building.
Tschk.
Sukuna clenches his jaw and closes the door behind him. He pauses, scrunches up his nose and steps into the obscure room. A hint of bitter smoke lingers in the air, along with a muddy and dry smell. Old.
It’s spacious, yet crammed. Dusty, yet tidy. With farm utensils, boxes and shelves with chunks of wood in one corner and a working bench in the other. Even a little sink.
He sucks his teeth and blinks to his right. Silhouettes of ceramic works, clay bowls, plates and pitchers paint the floor, sitting right next to a large furnace.
A sigh.
You cram everything back into the first aid kit and put it on the passenger seat, along with your dirty clothes. And as you reach for the door to close it shut, you spot a darker, moving texture coming from the hut’s roof. A chimney.
You bite your lip, almost bloody and close the door. Loudly.
Pap!
Sukuna slumps down on the hard stone floor. A grim look shadows his face, before he licks his thumb and strokes along his temple, smudging off some of the blood. Wet and warm. Sticky.
He watches the light’s reflection dancing on the crimson liquid.
The fire crackles gently, warms and paints his skin with an dancing orange tinted light. And with a smack of his lips, he looks back at the furnace, watching the flames and sparks swirling inside. With glimmering red eyes, he seems so deeply focused, slowly rubbing and smearing the blood between his fingers.
In thought.
They clatter back and forth in your mind, thoughts about everything that happened, every question in your mind. And how he acted, treating your wounds so gently, despite being so ruthless towards you before. Somehow, you can’t let it go.
“Walk him home…” you mumble and stare into the nothing, chewing about his words.
An idea of what it could mean already scratches your brain — in fact, it could only mean one thing — but you don’t dare to spell it out.
You rip the key out of the ignition and shove into the middle console, before you crawl into the back. Squeezing the haori tight against your skin, you curl up on the backseat. Shivers consume your body and you already know, that it won’t take long for you to give in.
For fucks sake.
Sukuna stares into the flames, biting his teeth over and over again. So tense. Something seems to linger on his mind.
Tap, tap, he taps onto the floor with the fingers of his lower hand and cracks the knuckles of his upper ones. One finger after another, crack, crack, crack. What could it be?
Sukuna’s lower eye darts over his shoulder and back to the door. Nothing. Silence, crackle, crackle.
He blinks back to the flames. And, as if forbidden, he quietly parts his mouth, before he wets his lips. Slow and with intend, he lets his tongue trace over the sensitive skin.
And with narrow eyes, he adjusts his seat, while he keeps fiddling with the fingers of his left hand and scratches his neck with the other. A quiet, dissatisfied grunt tumbles through his throat — and he stirs again, before he looks at his right hand, observing the trace on his skin that runs across his palm, before he closes his fist.
“Tsk.”
An annoyed sigh pushes through your nose as you close your eyes. It’s cold and you squirm to get a comfortable position, until you completely curl yourself up into his haori. Actually, it’s big enough to swallow you whole. Big enough… big enough…
Sukuna shoots back up to his feet. A thoughtful pout chews on his lips while he shuffles through the room. With habitual movements, he stretches his four arms and cracks his neck. He paces around, again and again, lazily observes the workbench and the tools on there, kicks his foot against some claypots until they break. Eventually, he flicks against the wooden handle of a rake, flck, flck, until he comes to a halt next to an old, stained window. And he clenches his jaw once again, before he looks through old glass. Out onto the dark street and over to the—
Your eyes shoot open and you lean up to peek through the damp windshield. The hut seems calm and unchanged, with smoke still calmly ascending into the night sky.
Sukuna peers into the shadows of the car, swallows and reaches into his pants to adjust himself — followed by a click of his tongue. Visibly displeased.
And you scoff at yourself and swing yourself around, now facing the cushions. Curled up and with your arms crossed in front of you, your fingers rest on your shoulders. It aches a bit, the spot where he buried his teeth into your flesh. You swallow and hesitantly reach for your neck, letting your fingers feather over the scar he left there on your skin. So deep and sensitive. Over and over you feel it, trace it. You clench your thighs.
Why does it feel—
Sukuna’s right hand still lingers down below — and his face slackens.
“Fucking cunt.” he grumbles and keeps his eyes fixed on the car. A scornful twitch hushes across his face. Sukuna’s eyes grow hollow as he leans forward, with his upper hand against the wall.
Have you ever been in love?
“Tch.” you click your tongue and press your eyes shut as tight as you can. His haori wears so heavy on you. So heavy, so heavy… Just like him… Just like—
This kiss…
A thing for lovers…
His words whisper tenderly into your mind. Persistent.
Persistent… like the taste you carved into my tongue…
Enough.
You wet your lips.
This kiss…
Enough…
And the unbearable hunger that came with it…
He swallows.
This kiss…
“Hah.”
And how he hesitated…
And how he kissed… hot…
And how he fucked…
So good.
Stroking.
And how he smelled me…
Fingers digging into this stone…
Into my thighs…
Slow.
As if he needed me…
Wanted me…
And how he looked at me…
As if he needed me…
Wanted me…
Back and forth.
Tenderly…
“Those eyes…”
In and out.
“Those fucking eyes…”
Filling me up…
Letting me sink…
In and out.
Letting me drown…
Filling me up…
Fucking me…
So slow…
So tender…
With jittering breaths.
As if he needed me…
Wanted me…
Is he starving already?
He groans.
I hope he is…
Am I?
“Yes.”
This smell…
His smell…
You clench.
He thrusts.
My wounds…
Fill me up…
Please…
In and out. Back and forth.
Spit.
“Fill me up…” you moan quietly, “Sukuna-sama…”
“So needy…” he mouths, trembling. “Such madness.”
Back and forth. In and out.
So wet…
So hard…
So close…
Back and forth. In and out.
“Why do I want to feel you in my mouth…” you whine and bury your face into his garment, “on my tongue…” you bite it, “…and inside my throat?”
So fucking close…
“Hah.”
Throbbing.
You whimper.
Fltsh. Fltsh. Fltsh.
The throat you cut…
“F-Fuck…”
Do you wanna feel it?
You tense.
“Do you wanna feel me?”
Grinding.
Jerking.
And my flesh…
With trembling thighs.
You choke.
Soaking…
Convulsing.
For you…
Moaning.
…to devour me.
“Hah. Agh. Ahh!“ you cum.
“Fuckkk!” he cums.
You smother your cries inside his haori and into the seat, with your throat vibrating against your hand and your body shaking on your fingers — thinking of him. A high so disturbing and mind boggling. Intense.
And with closed eyes and a groaning breath, Sukuna pumps both his dicks, shooting his hungry seed against the dusty wall. Drop after drop. His nails scratch into the mix of bricks and concrete, while his right fist clenches around his throbbing lengths, squeezing them against his palm. He twitches with a heaving chest, blinking back into focus, before he looks at his hand, sticky with saliva and cum. Fresh blood drips off his face. A face that is distorted with neither pleasure, nor disdain. It’s something inbetween.
You feel disgusting, panting and laying there on your stomach, with your fingertips feeling your sensitive neck, with your other hand resting against your clit and your fingers inside your hole. Disgusting, because it felt so good. So warm. Like him. I wish it was hi—
Quiet.
You lift your hips and raise your wet fingers to your mouth. A moment of hesitation passes, until you close your lips around them, sucking off your juices. Nauseatingly desperate to taste traces of him. Ridiculous.
And you tongue doesn’t find him. It’s just you.
Something stirs inside your stomach. And you’re wondering if he’s sitting there in this hut, if he’s snoring or if he thought about you, too… wondering if he’s truly as cold as he acts to be — or if it’s just a wish of yours.
“Prick.” you curse again and crawl back onto the drivers seat, before you slip into your wet shoes. They feel squishy. It makes you sneer. It’s no use.
You gather your stuff, clothes, phone and key — and get out of the car, clp.
Pure annoyance is plastered on your face as you limp down the street. It hurts, and you twitch in pain with every step, until you finally arrive at the hut.
In front of the wooden door, you hesitate.
Clutching to your belongings, the nervousness is pressing against your stomach. Your heart is pounding, heavy and unsettling — it makes you want to vomit. Right here, in front of this door. The mockery you’re expecting about your return doesn’t make this easier and the cold that is hunting you with every passing second is your last straw. Another breeze and you swallow — and grab the handle.
Wreeeee
A muddy, warm atmosphere embraces your face as you enter the hut. You spot farm equipment and shelves on the left wall, a working bench right ahead. Drops of water darken the floor around a sink. And as if someone tipped on your shoulder, you blink over to your right, spotting Sukuna sitting right in front of a big furnace, with his back turned to you.
His ear twitches and he turns slightly, looking over his shoulder and focuses on you with glaring eyes. Aggressive and unsettling. Almost, as if he’s cursing you. Almost, as if his mind is roaring with murderous intend. It makes your mouth grow dry.
And as if his consuming energy massacred any molecule of ease in this room, you feel this heavy tension lingering in the air. He doesn’t speak, just sits there with his upper right hand resting on his leg, as if he was observing his palm. His palm… his palm… What about it?
You avert your eyes, ignore the shiver that runs down your spine and approach the furnace.
Sukuna’s eyes are locked onto your figure. Intense and sharp, like nails. Almost as if they want to reach out and claw themselves into your skull to rip you apart. Your lungs grow heavy, with this silence and dark energy that he is weighing upon you. As if you two are submerged in thick liquid, unable to speak. As if there was something left unsaid.
Sukuna’s gaze follows your clumsy steps, eyes you up and down, watching you and how you slip out of your shoes and sprawl out your wet clothes in front of the oven. With every move, his staring eyes turn your flowing blood into dense lead. And you swallow, searching for words inside your mind to break your own stubbornness and shame, to break this energy between you two, this heavy silence—
“What is it?” you finally mumble with a heavy tongue, fighting with every muscle not to break under his gaze. He says nothing. And you stare into the oven, crackle, crackle. “You mock me about the way I look at you… And now when I don’t, it feels like you want to rip me apart.” you add into the burning silence. “So, I could ask you the same. Why are you looking at me like that?”
No response.
“Did you change your mind?… Should I leave?”
He stirs and you feel the heavy weight of his eyes fall off your skin.
And your grip on his haori tightens, “Is that a no?” you feel your heartbeat rise. “Then why aren’t you saying anything, Sukuna-sama?”
Bold.
Sukuna’s eyes shoot back up to you. You feel it.
He huffs sullenly, “Well... What is there that needs to be said?”
Though, his voice seems calmer than expected. Less murderous than his gaze. A relief.
You peek over your shoulder and meet his arrogant eyes. But before you can answer, you catch how he’s once again rubbing his fingers against his palm. You can’t ignore it. And with narrow eyes, you walk over to him and kneel down in front of him. Sukuna’s eyes twitch, pinned on you and wary of what you’re gonna do, before you reach for his wrist and yank his hand close to you. And he lets you—
“I don’t know.” you reply and sprawl his fingers open with your other hand, so small in comparison, revealing a scar on the palm that held your throat. Like a cut. “You tell me...” you add.
And a tense second passes, crackle, crackle. A tense second, in which you grow aware of your fingers that unconsciously began to trace over his. A tense second, in which it seemed like they twitched to feel yours — until he yanks his hand out of your grip.
“Enough.” he commands and shoves you away with his lower hand, forcing you to reach for the ground to prevent you from falling over. The haori parts from the motion, now revealing glimpses of your bare skin underneath, chest and stomach.
And Sukuna’s lip twitches spitefully, but whatever he might’ve added, whatever mockery or insult — they stay hidden in his throat. Instead, his eyes grow dark, hush down your body and back to your eyes again. You clench your jaw and so does he, badum, badum. Holding your eye contact for the time of a single breath.
And for one more. One more.
Did he think of m—
Your chest grows heavy. It’s smothering.
No. It can’t be.
Like a lonely whore. That’s what he said.
Words that cut into your brain like a butcher’s knife.
“You’re right.” you whisper and cover yourself again. “Enough.”
And you get up and step away from him, before you lower yourself back to the ground. Curling up in his haori, you fiddle with the fabric, with your back facing him.
It grows quiet, crackle, crackle.
And it’s just you and him… you and him. At least it’s warm in here. At least its dry. At least—
Weird. Why does it feel so weird?
This silence between you. Somehow it feels different.
What if he truly hates me for what I did?
And the exhaustion forces your eyelids shut, despite your racing heart.
“You don’t need to.” you whisper, barely conscious and falling asleep. “I already hate myself…”— Vrmmmmmmm.
Ear shattering vibrations shake your blood.
And you jolt awake, with your throat slit open.
Dust jitters from the ceiling and broken walls and lands on the stairs beneath your laying figure, as warm drops fall onto your face, making you flinch.
Tickling against your skin and into the wound, drip, drip, drip.
You look up. And see him.
Sukuna hovers over you, pumping his dicks, violently coating you in his hateful essence. And he flashes his teeth, panting and heaving in scornful ecstasy.
With raging white eyes.
No soul.
Your blood freezes. No. You don’t wanna see.
And then he laughs. This bone-chilling laugh. He likes that.
”Have you ever been in love?”
His maniacal voice roars through the stairways, mixes with the rumbling ground.
Your face grows pale. Petrified.
And you hurry back on your feet.
Up. Up. Up. Up.
801. 801. 801.
You run. And flee.
From the burned corpses inside the walls. Wailing and watching your every step.
Step after step. Corner after corner.
Creatures swarm over them. Hissing and grinding on their faces.
They scream in agony.
And Sukuna laughs.
Roaring through this stairway like a hurricane.
Through this purgatory of your soul.
Run. Run. Run.
The next floor. Finally.
8th.
Your heart stammers inside your chest as you jump over the remaining steps.
The door is open.
801.
This is it.
Her office. No. Ours.
Chunks of debris crashes down and dust keeps falling,
disturbs your sight onto the desks in the middle.
And your lungs ache.
She’s lying there. With her head on the desk. Motionless.
Another quake and you almost fall.
With a heaving chest.
Sukuna steps into your vision.
With his eyes fixed on your face, his lips begin to move.
Drip, drip. His palm is bleeding.
But he doesn’t speak.
And yet you understand.
Don’t drown.
And yet, your lungs swell.
Swell, as if a wave is about to pull you under, to consume you entirely.
With every step. With every step.
And you cough up water. And heave for air.
Again. And again.
It soaks your clothes.
You step back, clutching to your gushing throat.
Warm and cold.
You’re so scared, so, so scared.
And Sukuna just watches you. Looks at you.
With sorrow in his eyes. As if the sight of you is eating him up. His insides.
It terrifies you. Seeing these emotions in his face.
And you turn and run further into the room, approaching the desk.
Your lungs dry out. And so does your soul.
She’s still motionless.
The ground rumbles once again.
Vrmmmmmmm.
The building threatens to collapse. More and more.
And a consuming sadness spreads inside your core.
Guilt.
She twitches and you blink.
Leaning down, you carefully place your hand on her shoulder.
And if you woke her from the dead, her head shoots up.
Screaming and carving her shattered and maimed face right into your terrified mind—
A loud wheeze fills the room as you gasp for air and shoot forward. Cold sweat pools in your neck and tears in your panicked eyes. You swallow, breathing heavily, and try to focus.
This dream has never been like this. You never reached that crumbling office. Never. Not once in the past six months since she was buried under all that rubble.
And what about— Your devastated eyes blink to Sukuna, who’s peering at you from the opposite side of the hut, crouching towards the corner between the workbench and farm utensils.
With quivering lips, you feel your throat tighten. Fuck.
Nausea hits you and you jump to your feet to burst out of the hut, followed by Sukuna’s eyes. You barely make it out the door, before you begin to cough, heave and convulse.
But it’s dry. Just some spit.
There’s nothing inside that you could spew out. Nothing. You’re empty, so empty.
And your limbs begin to shake. Sobs choke up your throat and feeding the lump that has been growing and growing, until it finally bursts. Your mind is mush. Unable to think, only able to feel.
It eats you up.
And you slide onto your knees, cowering on a moist patch of soft grass.
Your features tremble as an unbearable pain spreads inside your chest and limbs, clawing at your throat, heart and lungs. It’s hard to breathe. And yet, you try to contain yourself, try to let the tears roll in silence. You try to swallow the sobs, but some of them hick up. Quietly, at least. And yet, it hurts so much.
It overwhelms you. Everything that happened. And all those feelings. It keeps hunting you — day and night.
You bury your face and fists into his haori. Grab it so tightly and choke on your tears, feeling the sorrow gnaw at your soul and the void that expands inside your deepest core.
The guilt. It feeds on your insides like a curse, gnaws at your hands and fingers, desperately trying to make sure you’re not able to act again. Ever. If only its teeth were sharp enough.
And you breathe him in, his scent, and squeeze the garment tighter, almost rip it apart with the tension in your body. You bite your teeth.
And beneath your fingertips, you feel the seams inside the fabric. Long ones and small. So many. It must’ve been so many tears and holes, that have been sown together so tightly. And you felt them before, back in your flat.
Why is it only now, that you notice them again?
But not just seams. Holes, too. Fresh ones. Threads and lacerations that split apart like gushing wounds—
A door quietly creeks to your left, making your ear twitch. You sniff and look over to the house on the opposite side on the road, only see some wind chimes swaying calmly in the breeze.
You exhale, deeply, wondering if someone saw you. Another sniff and you swallow, trying to breathe. In and out. Your eyes are aching, but with every second you start to feel lighter. For once. For now.
Looking up into the sky, you notice that the colours changed. Brighter, too. Blue hour.
You inhale again with a heavy heart, and get back on your feet.
Tschk.
“Already pregnant, huh?” Sukuna taunts from the corner as you close the door.
“Don’t worry. I can’t get pregnant.” you remark in a creased voice, too weak to even roll your eyes, and shuffle over to your clothes in front of the furnace. They’re dry by now, at least. It’s time to change.
And Sukuna keeps quiet. You don’t even know if he listened. And actually, for once, you don’t care.
Your hesitant fingers linger on his black garment, before you take another breath and let it slide off your figure, exposing yourself to the dry air inside the hut. Then you carefully fold it, nice and neat, before placing it on the spot where Sukuna sat last night. As if it was something dear to you. Maybe it is.
And as you slip into your clothes, you let your aching eyes hush over to him, see his back and how his four arms are placed on his thighs. He seems so utterly focused on that corner and frankly, it confuses you — until you hear a tiny sound. A squeak.
He huffs, amused.
“C’mere.” he suddenly coos and you frown, feeling the urge to approach him, but you keep still.
Sukuna reaches into the corner and raises a kitten into your vision, holding it on its nuchal fold. And you blink.
It’s tiny and orange, squirming and squeaking in his hold. It can’t be older than a month or two.
A proud smile forms on his lips and wrinkles carve into the corner of his eyes, before he lowers it into his lower hands.
“Meow!” it squeaks again. And your heart is bursting.
Sukuna gets up and strolls back to his spot in front of the furnace, with this tiny thing inside his large hands. Your eyes follow him, almost unable to believe what you’re seeing. He’s handling it so gentle, as if it was precious and lovable. The delight is written in his face — and you could swear, you see it on his stomach mouth, too.
You observe him quietly and the feeling this sight evokes in you stirs inside your stomach. It’s odd. Almost as if every worry and trauma cowers in front of this loving look on his face and creeps back into the shadows of your soul. Even though it was him who carved a chunk of them into you. You don’t understand. It’s like he’s someone else.
A satisfied smile grows on Sukuna’s face as he lowers himself to the ground, petting the kitten as if it was his own. And it seems curious about him, sniffs him and attempts to climb over his arms. Sukuna plays along and forms stairs with his upper and lowers hands, letting it walk over him, again and again — until it jumps back to the ground.
“Heh.” hums and leans forward, “Pspspsps.”
Sukuna patters his nails on the floor, trying to catch its attention. And it works — the kitten strides behind the workbench and leans down, focused on his fingers. It wiggles it’s body and prepares for assault, before it dashes forward and chases after Sukuna’s hands, which he’s quick to move around, making it hard for the kitten to even scratch him. Ugh.
So sweet. He can be so sweet.
And you don’t know how to handle it, his rejection — and this dispute inside yourself, while watching him being the softest man you ever saw.
He suddenly peers over to you and you blink, realising you’ve been staring at him, before you avert your eyes. Looking back into your lap, you fiddle with the hem of your sweater, trying to distract yourself.
They keep playing and you listen, chewing on your lip and still in thought. The kitten dashes back and forth, trying to catch his hand. And inbetween, you feel Sukuna’s eyes crawl up your pitiful figure, but you feel too pathetic to look back at him.
His fingers patter on the ground another time, now closer to you — in fact right in front of you, tiptptiptp. The kitten dashes forward another time and jumps right into your lap.
“Oh!” you flinch out of your thoughts.
Sukuna snorts amused and you watch how it just stays in your lap, breathing heavily. Exhausted and happy — he must have given it the chase of it’s life.
And you melt at its sight and how it curiously looks back up to you. Maybe it wasn’t Sukuna that enlightened your soul. Not entirely that is.
“Seems like he took an interest in you too, brat.” Sukuna remarks condescendingly, “…And those pouty lips of yours.”
Despite his words, a soft smile forces onto your lips and you reach out your hand to let it smell your skin. And you wonder if you’re smelling just like him. You wore his clothes all night, after all.
With tiny smacks of its mouth, the kitten starts to lick your finger. Your eyes grow gentle as you begin to hear it, the little motor. The kitten begins to purr as you carefully pet and scratch his head. And the purr grows louder, utterly satisfied.
Your smile grows even brighter, as it lays down and curls up inside your lap. It lights up your heart. Almost as if it’s mere existence could lift you out of your misery.
“Did you see his mother anywhere?” you ask softly, without thinking, and look back to Sukuna, seeing him looking at you with his head propped up on his fist, watching you. And your chest grows stiff at the tender way he looks at you. Almost, as if this kitten gave you two a time-out.
He blinks his eyes and gently shakes his head. And only now you notice how tired he looks, exhausted even. With that wound on his face, his dry eyes and the skin beneath, that seem to darken with every second. Did he even sleep?
“Good morning, everyone!” an elderly voice suddenly chimes through the door, before it creeks open. Your breath hitches and the kitten jumps out of your lap, now striding towards the door. And inside the door, you spot an old lady peeking into the hut.
She has grey, short hair, bleary eyes, a round face — and countless wrinkles that decorate her like poems of a long life. Seeing her makes you nervous. What if she’s—
“I assumed you must be hungry.” she smiles sweetly and places a tray with two cups of tea, two bowls of rice and soup and one piece of fish onto the doorstep. And it’s true, you didn’t even feel it until now. The smell and sight of this food heavily triggers the sleeping hunger inside of you. “Please share this with your boyfriend, will you?” she nods back and forth between you and Sukuna with a cheeky smile. And you frown in disbelief.
“In fact…” she adds. “he looks even hungrier than you.”
You pout and carefully blink back to Sukuna, who’s clenching his teeth beneath those tired eyes of his. Now it makes sense.
He glares over to you and you bite your lips, quickly blinking back to the lady.
She greets the proudly purring kitten that’s tapping around her feet, with it’s tail swirling straight around her legs, “Heh. Heh. There you are.” she chimes, vanishing behind the door again. “Come on, breakfast is inside. Leave those two alone for a moment.”
And with that, the door closes again — Tschk.
Quiet.
And you both stare at the tray of food, the steaming rice and soup. How lovely.
How lovely this awkward silence is, and the aggravating tension between you, that rises inside the hut once again. A second passes. Then another. Maybe the mood would’ve been better if the kitten stayed, after all.
“Fine!” you finally spit, get up and limb to the tray. The heavy dishes clatter as you heave it up — the old lady meant well — and carry it back to Sukuna. You place it on the ground and shove it right to the front of his feet, before you sit down to his opposite and meet his contemptuous glare. “Let’s eat.”
Maybe they are just hangry…
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