Warnings: +18 content, dark content manipulation, obsession, unhealthy relationships, many kinks, all characters in this work are protrayed as 18 or older.
Characters: Michael Myers, Chucky, Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, Patrick Bateman, Hannibal Lecter, Vincent Sinclair, Jason Voorhees, Leatherface, Art The Clown, Jason Dean, Alex DeLarge, Kurt Kunkle, Sweetly Slasher, Brahms.
Michael Myers
I've already said in my previous headcanons that I don't consider Michael Myers to be really interested in sex. However, if you manage to catch his attention, he would be inclined to:
Hunter/Prey: This one is too obvious, isn't it? It would certainly keep its essence if that primary desire for you was awakened. Chasing and killing is something that fascinates him enormously. But since he saw you running away from him, eager for him to catch you... the feeling of pleasure went straight to his cock. Seeing you so vulnerable and innocent before him is a sight that always makes him get hard in his pants. He chases you walking calmly. Just one push is enough to immobilize you.
Corruption: Another way to awaken his sexual appetite is to be the perfect prey to corrupt. Both sexually and mentally. He would like everyone to know that you are no longer as innocent as you were at the beginning. That your skin has the name of Michael Myers marked forever.
Knife Play: A must. He will do everything to you with his knife. He'll make marks on you, both superficial and not so superficial. He'll write things on your skin, like his name. He'll be violent and brutal. Your skin will be scarred. He loves to watch you fall apart in pain and pleasure. It's a show no one else could give him.
Chucky
He doesn't actually have as many kinks as you might think. He's a man of simple tastesâŠ
Lingerie: Coming home and seeing you in lingerie is a surprise that will never bore him. Like I said, he's a simple man. Do that, don't tease him too much and you'll have him. It's that simple. He's on top of you in an instant, he won't listen to you if you tell him not to touch him and shit like that. He doesn't listen to anyone and he'll take what he wants.
Lap dances: Literally canonical. Sit him down and do a nice lap dance for him. He'll be mesmerized by your moves. He'll have a mischievous smile the whole time. His eyes will sparkle with lust. Finally, he couldn't hold back any longer. Also, it could work pretty well to make him jealous on purpose. He'll be aggressive with you back and it'll be rough sex.
Praise Kink: Praise him. Seriously. Do it. It'll boost his ego and he might give you a compliment back, telling you what a good girl you're being for him and that you're the best he could ever have. Give him your best compliments and he'll do it right back. He'll tell you that you're the best he's ever had and that he can never replace you and shit. I'm not saying he's lying, but let's just say he'll exaggerate his compliments because he's too turned on not to tell you what you want to hear.
Billy Loomis
Roleplay: The best roleplay here will be ghostface and his victim. He gets a huge turn on from seeing you in that vulnerable state, acting like a dumb girl who needs help. Every time he sees you like that he can't stand it. He needs to take out his violent frustrations on you. It's irresistible. Sometimes he won't even tell you it's role-playing, he wants you to believe he's genuinely considering harming you, it's kind of twisted. But you already knew that.
Cream-pie: He won't use a condom, he wants it to be just risky enough. He needs to fill you completely with his seed and see for a second the fear in your eyes. He will never give that up. He needs to mark you over and over again with his semen. He'll tell you how no one will love you if they know all the dirty things you've done for him.
Dirty talk: He'll tell you the worst things you'll ever hear. He'll threaten to kill you and say he won't if you agree to be his good bitch. He'll tell you all the things he could do to you while showing you his knife. He wants you to feel degraded and unable to help the pain building in your chest and the excitement you're experiencing in your crotch. He'll make fun of how turned on you are and increase the level of his insults.
Stu Macher
Threesome: At some point they'll have a threesome with Billy. It's guaranteed. He'll like watching you fuck and destroy you. The feeling of power they have over you drives him crazy. Being completely willing to him and his desires. It's all he's ever wanted. Billy, on the other hand, also likes to be in control of everything. So having you will be just another example of that. They both treat you like you're their whore, so your opinion doesn't matter much when it comes to what they do. Your moans are the only thing they care about.
Voyeurism: Watching you masturbate is something he'll do often. There will be days when you won't even notice he's there, watching you. But he'll be there. He'll leave minutes after you reach your orgasm. He likes the feeling of watching and being absolutely crazy to touch you and not always being able to. Torturously wonderful.
Phone sex: Every day before he makes his appearance as ghostface he tries to call you and say dirty things to you over the phone. He uses his voice changer. Things get hot quickly. When you ask him to go finish what he started, he just hangs up. He doesn't have time for that. He wants to leave you wanting and make you beg for him once he comes to visit you. He expects nothing less.
Patrick Bateman
Humiliation: He loves anything that involves humiliating you while he is in a position of superiority over you. It turns him on that you feel embarrassed and want to keep pleasing him even though he is fucking cruel to you. He will probably make you lick his shoes or make you cum on them. He might threaten you in your ear while they are doing it.
Master/Slave: This goes hand in hand with the previous kink. He will make you kneel before him and do everything he tells you. This could be extrapolated outside the bedroom to be honest, he is very controlling. You will always have to treat him with respect and he will punish you harshly if you reveal against him or make him feel that you have some discontent. His wishes are his command and he could openly express your position in the relationship in front of others.
Mirror sex: I suppose this does not surprise you. If he has a long-term relationship with you, he will not only enjoy seeing himself, but he will like seeing you too. It's a kind of pleasure that's been building up with you. It's become addictive to see your faces in the mirror, watching your body crumble under his touches and thrusts. He just can't get enough.
Hannibal
Discipline: I firmly believe that Hannibal will start to show his sexual kinks if he has control over you. At first, he will be totally vanilla and show no hint of wanting anything more. Later, after a while and he can see the obedience you show him, he will start punishing you sexually on certain occasions. He will discipline you in ways that will hurt. He will like to see how you change your behaviors when you feel pain. It's a good show for him.
Threesome: This one comes up again, because...he would have a threesome with Will Graham. It's so terribly obvious that it didn't even need to be put in. But it could become a recurring fantasy and something he would do more than once. The perversion, darkness, and secrets you share with each other would make him terribly hard. Having control of both of you really turns his sexual desire up. Not that you're complaining.
Begging: You have to beg him. Seriously, do it. It doesn't matter how committed you are to this. Do it. He'll like it when you get into an inferior position. If you're crying out in pleasure and need his help to have your orgasm, it'll be a nice image for him. If you're being bratty and pretending to beg him to get in the mood, he'll oblige (after disciplining you, of course).
Vincent Sinclair
Wax play: Another one that was awfully obvious. He'll blindfold you and drip hot wax over your body. Your shaky sighs of pain and pleasure will drive him crazy, but he's a patient man, he'll wait until he's satisfied and take his time, as it's the best thing he's done in a long period. He'll caress your thighs while you suppress a slight moan of pain. It's his way of comforting you, but he won't let you off the hook.
Vouyerism: He'll appreciate you lying naked while he's doing his job. He'll get distracted a few times by you, but he won't do anything until he's done. He likes to have a little desperation for you. You are the prettiest thing he has ever seen in his life, the most beautiful. And that is already a huge compliment coming from him. He wants your figure to always be in his memory. And he will keep you as long as he can.
Breeding kink: He wants to keep you and he is too excited by the idea of ââgetting you pregnant. He wants you to stay with him forever and not be able to escape from him. If he gets you pregnant, he will never have insecurities about it again and he could be with you and have you all to himself all the time. The orgasm is very strong when he paints your walls white and sees his cum coming out of you.
Jason Voorhees
Blowjob: At first, he would feel quite guilty while seeing your pretty lips wrapped around his penis. Afterwards, he would get used to it, but he would simply make you decide the pace. He would feel quite lustful and dirty if he makes you choke on his cock. He feels bad when he knows it would turn him on too much to ever do itâŠ
Lap-dancing: His body will respond on its own when he sees your hips moving on him to the music. He will soon discover that he cannot resist you. It is impossible. His hands will grab your waist and he will squeeze it tightly. It will be very easy for him to grab you and drag you to the bed. You know it is the easiest way to provoke him, he will never be able to resist your half naked body on top of him, teasing you, without caring at all. He might think badly of you at first, but that feeling is replaced by the inevitable guilty desire. Which makes you irresistible.
Mutual masturbation: This is the best way to give body worship. He will do his best to give you pleasure and you will hear his grunts when you give him pleasure. He will become so desperate that he will want to hear your moan of orgasmic pleasure quickly. He lives to see your body tremble for him, begging him to make you cum.
Leatherface
Praise kink: He needs to be praised by you. Feeling that he is important to you and that you look at him with eyes of desire will always get him going. Praise how strong he is, how well he takes care of you, how safe you feel with him. Tell him those things and he will be around your finger. You don't need anything else.
Vouyerism: He will watch you while you touch yourself. At all times. Sometimes he will demand that you touch yourself in front of him, other times he will watch you secretly. He will like to see your fluids on your fingers and will be hypnotized by the sight of your wet and hot intimacy. He will want to enter but he doesn't want you to see him as a total pervert. He prefers to stay with the desire. At least at first. Afterwards, he will be more shameless.
Blood play: He likes blood, so it is not unusual for him to get excited seeing the blood of victims on you. You will have sex while both have their clothes and bodies stained with blood. If you ever felt shy or guilty about what they do, it quickly goes away. You're likely to be absolutely shameless afterwards. The kink quickly becomes routine, he's practically always covered in blood and will act on his impulses at a moment's notice.
Art The Clown
If I'm honest, I could have written something worse.
Free use: He'll use you at any time. In front of victims, at the mall, at a bar. Obviously he won't ask and he won't stop in case you're embarrassed or don't want to. You're his toy and the maximum compassion he'll have towards you will be to leave you alive. So, thank him. Thank him while Vicky mocks you for being a bitch. Thank him while the man dressed as Santa looks at you in horror. Thank him while you're being thrown out of that Halloween store forever. Just... thank him, okay?
Glory Hole: Obviously only he will be able to fuck you. He likes to remind both you and himself that you're just a hole for him. He'll fuck you and make cuts on your legs, making you understand that he could kill you at any time and that, in fact, it would be quite painful for you. He likes to hear your crying and how you try to escape. You're just so good at satisfying him.
Forced orgasm: He'll use toys to make you cry. You'll be on the verge of overstimulation, to the point that you can't fully control or enjoy the forced pleasure he's giving you. According to him, things aren't all that good without deep pain. So, watching you beg for him to stop is the best thing you can give him at that moment.
Jason Dean
Gun play/Gun kink: Another one that's obvious. He'll use his gun as both a show of power and a sex toy. You might see him threaten you with his gun too if you've upset him. He'll tell you that he owns you and that's why he has all of you in his hands. It's a psychological game that he loves. If you're submissive, you'll practically be drooling at his power. If that's the case, he'll become more obsessed with you.
Hunter/Prey: He's fucking good at hunting. It's a twisted game that he'll repeat over and over. It'll be much better if you use the safe word as little as possible. He'll give you time to escape and he'll play psychological games with you, saying scathing words and phrases to you. He'll find you every time and take what's coming to him. You might get too dirty if he wants to play it out in a forest.
Exhibitionism: He'll definitely fuck you before he ends someone's life. He'll do it in front of them and put on the best show. It's much better if the person watching you is attracted to you. That scenario is the one he likes the most. It's addictive for him to humiliate someone who can never have you. It's one of his many twisted fantasies.
Alex DeLarge
If I'm honest, I could have written something worse x2. Let's see, it's clear what his kinks are; among them, there is noncon. But in my analysis I doubt he does this to his partner, but this is not out of respect or anything like that, the real reason is that he needs to keep you by his side and for you to see him as your leader willingly and to follow his wishes always. For that, he needs to avoid you hating him. Therefore, he will not force you. The only scenario in which I see him doing this is if he no longer wants anything with you and needs to end the relationship somehow or you rebel against him like his droogs did. That said, his kinks:
Gangbang: Yes, he is a possessive man and all that. But, listen, give me a chance. He, at the beginning of meeting you, will not be attached to you enough to prevent this perversion from coming to light. I definitely see him being a jerk and he will definitely tell you that to enter his group you will have to sleep with everyone. I can see this happening in the first few months. Obviously none of them are detail-oriented or anything like that. Afterwards, when Alex becomes attached to you, it will no longer happen, because you will be his property.
Deep throat: If he hears you gag, it's better. He doesn't need you to try hard to limit it. He wants to hear how you struggle to take him. He needs to see the tears running down your cheeks. He needs to feel your throat every time he goes deep inside you. He won't even apologize. He'll like it when your throat hurts afterwards.
Exhibitionism: Another one that is obvious, but is a must. He needs to have sex with you in front of many people. He needs them to see how he gives you pleasure, how everyone envies him. He wants everyone to want to have you but no one can, to look at your body with morbidity, but to never be able to have you. He needs to see the look of disgust on conservative people's faces. It's his ultimate fantasy.
Kurt Kunkle
Angry sex: This will happen often. He always does what he wants and gets absolutely careless with you. So you'll be angry for a long time and the best way to let it out is by having angry sex with him. It's the only way, as he won't listen to reason and will keep doing whatever he wants. Hit him, degrade him and make fun of him. He'll let you do whatever you want. He'll laugh if you're too cruel.
Cam sex: This isn't even surprising. He'll be turned on by fame, so it will turn him on to have sex in front of a lot of people watching. He'll keep his followers happy, so he'll tell you anything they suggest he tell you. So you'd have to be pretty shameless to be with him, as you might come off pretty degraded and pretty much everyone will see you as just a sex toy for entertainment.
Sexting: They'll do this a lot too. He can't be physically with you all the time. So, in his free time he will write you dirty messages and expect you to reply immediately. If you don't, he will get upset and jealous, thinking that you are with someone else. If this happens, the sexting will become more aggressive.
Sweetly Slasher (Quinn from the time jump, obviously, from the time cut movie)
Again it cracks me up, because nobody knows this one, but oh well since I'm including unknown slashers, give me your best suggestions for movie slashers that are not included in this list so I can include them and make the list of slashers longer lol.
Dumbification kink: He is literally a genius who was rejected by a girl; so I think he will continually treat you like you are a fool, it's his way of dealing with the situation (apart from the murder, obviously). And in sex that will intensify much more. He wants to overstimulate you and make you unable to respond with anything coherent. He'll say you're his favorite fool and expect you to act like it. He will manipulate you too much to make you do the things he wants you to do and pretend to praise you at the end.
Power play: I don't know if it's really a conventional kink, but I add it because it's in character. This goes hand in hand with the previous kink. He will put you at a disadvantage on multiple occasions, as he constantly needs to make you and himself understand that he is in control of you. So he will literally make all the decisions. He knows your limits and your tastes perfectly, so he always tends to get it right.
Sex toys: He is usually very busy, so he will play with you from a distance with the help of sex toys. He will order you not to move or do anything that could distract or bother him. Just focus on the sensation he is giving you through the toys. If you behave well, he might pay attention to you.
Brahms
Vouyerism: This kink has come up quite a bit, but it is impossible not to add it to Brahms. He will constantly watch you from behind the walls. He will watch you change clothes, bathe, pleasure yourself. He will watch you all the damn time. You would practically be his entertainment and his desire for you will increase much more as he gets to know your habits and your body.
Objectification: After he watches you for a long time, he will see you as an object. It is inevitable. You are the object of his desires. Made for him. That is why if you do not react the same, things will not be easy for you. You are supposed to agree with everything he says. You are supposed to be his alone and belong to him. He will convince you sooner or later and when he does, he will make the mistake of looking at you as his sexual object every time. You will have to be strong to be able to control him.
Overstimulation: He will like it when you overstimulate him. He wants to cum over and over again for you. He likes you to try to make him cry because he is so hypersensitive. He will beg you to make him cum over and over again. It does not matter how much it hurts or how much he cries. He also likes to feel like your toy. Just play with him.
you guys really liked the first twt link, so I made a pt.2 <3
cw: fingering, vaginal sex, creampie, breeding, masked men (ghostface), 'making a sex tape', dry humping, car sex, riding, angry sex
You knew the consequences of what would happened to you if you stepped out of place. Who can blame you? Maybe acting out of line will force him to treat you like the whorish little slut you are~
Just before he was about to leave he decided he needed to give you...a small reminder of him~
streaming was something you really liked doing on the weekends...you decided to bring a special guest for a special collab~
having a man is nice...but having a man who knows how to use his fingers to (actually) make you reach orgasm??? Thats a rare find...
You went to his house with the intention of watching movies. well...you did end up watching some random ass film-but 20 minutes in you guys decided to make your own homemade movie~
your boyfriend was such a gentleman-took you out to a nice restaurant, payed for dinner and treated you like a princess! You were spent, all you wanted to do was go in bed and stay up all night...lets just say the 2 of you were way too excited to wait~
live laugh fucking LOVE dry humping.
It doesn't take a lot for your boyfriend to get jealous. Today you found out that it's actually really fucking easy-laugh and playfully hit another guy and your bf will be FUMING.
SYNOPSIS: Something about the calls doesnât feel like a prank anymore. It knows too much, says too much, and never sounds like itâs guessing. With campus on edge and fear spreading through every hallway, Gojo and Sukuna decide You aren't staying aloneânot after everything. What starts as protection slowly turns into something constant, something suffocating⊠something you almost start to rely on, But when the phone rings again, itâs clear the danger isnât staying outside the house anymore.
CONTENT & WARNINGS: Horror, stalking, anonymous calls, home invasion, violence, attempted murder, blood, strong language, psychological tension, serial killer themes, paranoia, dark themes, possessive/protective behavior, Heavily Scream-inspired content, there will be a part 3 to this and there will be smut soon!
Youâve been quiet longer than you meant to be, staring down at the table without really seeing it, replaying pieces of the conversation in your head in a way that feels less like thinking and more like circling something you donât want to name. The call, the way Sukuna kept watching you, Gojoâs tone shifting in small almost unnoticeable waysânone of it sits right anymore when you try to arrange it neatly in your mind. It all just blends into this uneasy feeling you canât shake, like you missed something obvious everyone else already knows.
âGet up,â Sukuna says suddenly.
The words cut through your thoughts so cleanly it almost startles you, not because theyâre loud, but because of how final they sound, like heâs not suggesting anything so much as deciding the next step for you without needing your agreement.
You hesitate, more out of reflex than disagreement, because thereâs something in the way heâs looking at you now that makes it feel like saying no wouldnât actually change the outcome anyway.
Still, you sigh and reach for your things. âYou guys are acting insane, you know that?â
Gojo stands at the same time, stretching like the entire situation is just mildly inconvenient rather than anything serious, his usual grin slipping back into place as if it never left. âWe prefer âconcerned citizens,â actually.â
âYouâre not citizens of anything,â you mutter under your breath.
Sukuna is already walking ahead without waiting for the rest of you, hands in his pockets, posture loose but deliberate in a way that makes it feel like heâs always aware of exits, distances, people around him, even when he looks like he isnât paying attention at all.
Of course he is.
The car ride back doesnât feel like the earlier one. Itâs quieter in a way that presses more than it comforts, like the space between words has gotten heavier instead of emptier. Gojo tries to force some kind of normal back into it at first, turning the music on a little too loud, talking about random things that donât connect to anything real, laughing at his own comments like he can still pull the mood back into place if he tries hard enough, but even he starts to fade into the background when you donât really give him anything to bounce off anymore.
Sukuna drives without saying much at all.
Just steady hands on the wheel, eyes forward, expression unreadable in that way that never fully feels relaxed even when heâs silent. Thereâs a kind of focus to him that makes everything else feel slightly less stable by comparison, like heâs paying attention to something no one else has noticed yet.
You end up staring out the window instead, watching streetlights blur past in streaks of warm color that donât match how you feel inside.
âYou two are being weird,â you finally say, breaking the silence more out of discomfort than confidence.
Gojo perks up immediately like heâs been waiting for you to say something. âDefine weird.â
âThis,â you gesture vaguely between them without even looking away from the window at first, âall of this. Acting like I need security detail or something.â
Sukuna doesnât look at you when he answers, but his voice is steady, flat in a way that doesnât invite argument. âYou do.â
You frown immediately. âNo, I donât.â
Gojo leans forward from the back seat, resting his arms on the front console like heâs joining a conversation he already decided heâs winning. âOkay but hypotheticallyââ
âI hate when you say hypothetically,â you cut in automatically.
He ignores you completely. âHypothetically, if something creepy is calling you, and people are getting killed on campus, and that same someone somehow knows things they shouldnâtââ
âItâs still just a prank,â you insist, even though it comes out less certain than you want it to.
Sukuna scoffs quietly under his breath at that, not dramatic, not loudâjust enough for you to notice it, and somehow that small sound does more than any argument could.
Gojo shrugs like heâs trying to lighten the weight again. âAnyways, point isâweâre staying alert.â
Sukuna finally glances at you for half a second, just long enough that it feels deliberate, before looking back at the road. âYouâre not staying alone tonight.â
You sit up slightly, instantly alert again. âExcuse me?â
Gojo smiles like heâs been waiting for that reaction. âWeâre crashing your place.â
âNo, youâre not.â
âYes we are,â he answers immediately, too casual for how absolute it sounds.
Sukuna doesnât argue. He doesnât even look like he needs to.
And thatâs when it clicksânot as a realization, but as something settling uncomfortably into place
They werenât asking.
They were deciding.
By the time you reach your house, the argument has drained out of you more than you want to admit. It isnât even that youâve agreedâitâs more like youâve run out of energy to keep pushing back against something that doesnât seem interested in changing direction no matter what you say.
The house feels normal when you unlock the door. Warm. Familiar. Safe in a way that almost convinces you, for a second, that everything outside of it can stay outside.
Gojo steps in immediately behind you like heâs done it a hundred times before. âNice place.â
âYouâve been here before,â you say flatly without even turning around.
âYeah,â he replies, completely unfazed, âbut I like reminding you Iâm welcome.â
Sukuna follows more slowly, pausing just inside the doorway before fully stepping in. His eyes move across the room in a quiet sweepâwindows, corners, hallwayâlike heâs confirming something for himself rather than just observing it. Thereâs no panic in it, no obvious concern, just calculation that doesnât really match the setting of a normal living room.
That makes you pause without meaning to.
You close the door behind them anyway.
âYou guys are seriously staying?â you ask again, slower this time.
âYes,â Sukuna says immediately.
âYup,â Gojo echoes, raising a hand like heâs signing attendance.
You sigh under your breath. âI didnât agree to this.â
âYou didnât disagree hard enough,â Gojo replies, already moving further inside like heâs claimed the space.
You just stare at him for a second, and he smiles back like thatâs the end of the conversation.
Within minutes, heâs already messing with your TV setup like he owns it.
âThis horror selection is offensive,â he announces loudly. âHow are you surviving like this? This is cinematic neglect.â
âItâs called having taste,â you mutter as you head toward the kitchen just to breathe away from him for a second.
Sukuna sits down on the arm of the couch instead of the seat, watching Gojo work the remote with a level of patience that looks practiced rather than natural.
âYou always say that,â he says quietly.
âThat doesnât make it wrong,â you call back from the kitchen.
From there, you can still hear themâGojo complaining, overreacting, talking too much, Sukuna responding only when necessary, his voice low and controlled in a way that never wastes words. It almost feels normal if you donât think too hard about it.
Almost.
But underneath everything, thereâs still that same tension sitting just out of reach of language, like the air hasnât fully settled yet.
Like something is still waiting to happen.
When you come back out with snacks, Gojo is already standing again, stretching like heâs made a decision.
âIâm gonna go grab better movies,â he announces.
You blink. âWhat?â
He points at the TV like itâs personally offended him. âThis is criminal. I need real horror. Not⊠whatever this is.â
Sukuna looks up slightly. âWhere are you going?â
âVideo store,â Gojo says like itâs obvious. âDowntown. Still has actual good stuff. Iâll be quick.â
You frown. âItâs almost dark.â
Gojo waves it off without even looking worried. âRelax. Iâm not the one getting creepy phone calls, remember?â
You open your mouth to respondâ
But Sukuna cuts in first.
âDonât be long.â
Gojo pauses just long enough to glance at him, grin widening slightly in a way that doesnât feel entirely playful.
âOh?â he hums.
Sukuna doesnât react. Doesnât explain. Just holds his gaze, calm and unreadable.
For a second, it feels like something is being said without words that youâre not part of.
Gojo finally laughs under his breath. âYeah, yeah. Donât miss me too much.â
He heads for the door, stopping just before it, looking back over his shoulder at you.
âLock it behind me,â he adds lightly, like itâs nothing important at all.
Then he leaves.
The door clicks shut.
And suddenly, the house feels differentânot empty, not quiet exactly, just shifted.
And itâs only you and Sukuna left now.
ââ á ââ
The house settles into silence after that in a way that feels different from earlier, not empty exactly, but less distracted, like thereâs no longer anything filling the space between you and Sukuna except the things neither of you are saying.
You end up sitting back on the couch again, arms loosely folded around yourself without realizing it, eyes drifting toward the muted TV while your mind refuses to actually focus on whatever is playing. Sukuna sits a little ways off, not far enough to be avoidant, not close enough to be familiar, just there in a way that feels deliberate, like he chose that exact distance without thinking about it too long.
Every so often you feel him glance at you, quick and controlled, like heâs checking something without wanting you to notice, but you do anyway, because youâve started noticing more than you should.
âYou donât look fine,â he says eventually, voice low enough that it almost blends into the background noise of the TV.
You donât even look at him at first, forcing a small laugh like itâs nothing, like itâs easy. âI am fine.â
He doesnât respond right away, and that silence is what makes you look over at him properly. His eyes are on you now, steady, not accusing, but not buying a single word either, like heâs already decided your answer doesnât matter because it isnât the truth.
That alone makes your chest tighten slightly in a way you donât know how to explain, so you lean back further into the couch like itâll help you disappear into something less exposed.
âYouâve said that a lot recently,â he says after a moment, quieter this time, not pushing, just observing, and thereâs something in his tone that feels less sharp than usual, more controlled in a way that isnât cold, just careful.
You try to brush it off again, but it comes out weaker than you want it to. âItâs nothing. Itâs just some weird calls. Itâs not likeââ you stop yourself because even saying it out loud feels stupid now, like pretending itâs small is getting harder every time you repeat it.
Sukuna exhales slowly through his nose, leaning back slightly like heâs choosing his next words instead of reacting. âYou keep acting like you can just ignore it and itâll go away.â
That makes you go quiet for a second longer than you intend to, your gaze dropping to your hands without meaning to. Thereâs something about the way he says itânot dramatic, not loud, just steadyâthat makes it harder to keep holding everything in place.
âIâm not ignoring it,â you mutter, though it doesnât sound convincing even to you.
âNo,â he replies immediately, and thereâs no judgment in it, just certainty, âyouâre holding it in like it wonât mess you up eventually.â
The words land heavier than you expect, and for a second you donât have anything smart to say back. You just sit there, staring at the TV while your throat tightens slightly, annoyed at yourself more than anything for even letting it get to you.
Sukuna watches you for a moment longer, then shifts closerânot fully invading your space, just enough that the distance doesnât feel like a barrier anymore.
âTell me what they said,â he adds, quieter now.
You hesitate, because saying it out loud makes it real in a way youâve been avoiding all day, but something about the way heâs looking at you doesnât feel like pressure, more like patience that doesnât plan on leaving. So eventually you do, voice lower than usual as you explain it in fragments at first, the call, the questions, the way they knew things they shouldnât have known, how it didnât feel random, how it felt like being watched even when nothing was there. Sukuna doesnât interrupt you once, doesnât try to fix it or joke it away, just listens with that same steady focus that makes it feel like youâre not being dismissed for once.
When you finally stop talking, the silence that follows doesnât feel as sharp as before.
âThat's fucked up,â he says simply, like heâs stating a fact instead of reacting to it, and the lack of exaggeration somehow makes it more real.
You let out a small breath that sounds almost like a laugh but doesnât fully become one. âYeah. Tell me something I donât know.â
That earns the faintest shift in his expression, something barely there but softer than before. âYou shouldnât be dealing with that alone.â
âIâm not alone,â you say automatically, then hesitate when you realize how quickly you said it, like youâre trying to convince yourself more than him.
Sukuna studies you for a second longer, then reaches upânot sudden, not forcefulâand gently cups your cheek in a way that makes your words stop entirely.
It isnât dramatic, it isnât soft in an overly sentimental way either, itâs just steady, grounding in a way that feels unfamiliar coming from him. His thumb brushes lightly once like heâs making sure youâre actually there, actually okay enough to be sitting in front of him.
âYou are right now,â he says quietly, voice lower than before, âand thatâs not happening again.â
Something in your chest tightens at the way he says itânot like a promise made for effect, but like something already decided.
You try to recover a little of yourself with a shaky breath, because vulnerability feels too exposed all of a sudden, and you force a small, uneven smile. âWow,â you mutter, trying to lighten it, âdidnât know you had a soft side.â
His hand doesnât move away immediately, but his eyes narrow slightly in warning that isnât harsh, just⊠focused. âDonât ruin it.â
That actually makes you let out a real breath of laughter, softer this time, more genuine, and for a moment the tension between you shifts instead of breaking, like itâs still there but not as heavy. Sukuna finally lets his hand drop, but the space he was in still feels occupied somehow.
For a while after that, neither of you speak much, but itâs not awkward anymore in the same way. Itâs quieter, more aware, like something between you has changed shape without either of you naming it.
Every so often your eyes meet and linger a second too long before one of you looks away first, like thereâs an unspoken line neither of you is fully stepping over yet but both of you are standing right in front of.
At some point you notice itâhow close heâs sitting now compared to before, how you didnât even realize when the distance disappeared. And when you look at him again, heâs already looking at you, not moving, not joking, just there in a way that makes your heartbeat feel louder than it should.
Neither of you says anything.
Neither of you really needs to.
The moment stretches out like itâs deciding what it wants to become, untilâ
The phone rings.
The sound cuts through everything instantly, too sharp, too sudden, breaking whatever quiet had started forming between you. You jerk slightly, eyes snapping toward your phone like your body reacted before your thoughts could catch up, and Sukuna moves at the same time, already standing without hesitation.
âIâll get it,â you say quickly, starting to shift forward.
âNo,â he cuts in immediately, already stepping past you, tone firmer now in a way that doesnât invite argument, âstay.â
You pause, watching him move, your mouth parting slightly like you want to say something but canât quite find it fast enough. Sukuna doesnât look back at you when he picks up the phone, just answers it with a calmness that feels wrong given everything that just happened in the room.
And for the first time since Gojo left, the air doesnât feel quiet anymore.
It feels like itâs holding its breath again.
ââ á ââ
The living room still held the faint scent of buttered popcorn and the low hum of the television left on mute. Sukuna stood rigid by the corded phone mounted on the wall, one hand braced against the paneling while the other gripped the receiver so tightly his knuckles had gone bone-white.
His jaw flexed once, twice, the muscle ticking beneath his skin as he listened. The voice on the other end was low, distorted through whatever cheap modulator the caller was using, but it carried that same sickening familiarity that had been haunting you for days.
"Hello?" the voice drawled, stretching the word out like it was tasting something sweet. "Did you really think it would be over, Y/N? That one little hang-up would make me disappear?"
Sukunaâs reply came out flat, almost bored, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. "Wrong number, asshole. Try again some other night."
A soft, wet chuckle filtered through the line. "Oh, I donât think so. You sound different tonight. Deeper. Rougher. Not the little scared girl Iâve been talking to. Whoâs there with you, sweetheart? Is that your boyfriend? Or just some guy youâre letting hang around while you pretend everythingâs fine?"
You had froze on the couch, knees drawn up to your chest, but the moment you heard the voiceâdistorted yet unmistakableâyou felt your stomach drop straight through the floor. Your breath caught. You knew that tone. You knew the way it lingered on your name like it owned it.
The same voice that had called you two nights ago while you were alone in the kitchen, the same one that had whispered about the windows, Her eyes snapped to Sukuna, wide and glassy, silently begging him to confirm what she already feared.
He didnât look at you. His gaze stayed fixed on the wall ahead, crimson eyes narrowed into slits. "I said wrong number. Lose this number before I lose my patience."
"Patience," the caller repeated, almost fondly. "Thatâs funny coming from you. I wonder how patient youâll be when I tell you exactly what Iâm going to do to her. To Y/n. Sheâs been so jumpy lately, hasnât she? Jumping at every shadow, checking the locks twice, three times. Cute. Real cute. But locks donât stop someone who already knows the layout of the house. Someone whoâs been watching. Someone who knows she likes to leave the back porch light off because she thinks it saves electricity."
Sukunaâs free hand curled into a fist at his side. "Youâre wasting your breath."
"Am I?" The voice dropped lower, turning oily. "Tell me, does she still sleep with that little nightlight on in the hallway? The one shaped like a moon? I bet she does. I bet she lies there staring at the ceiling, wondering if tonightâs the night someone finally comes through that window she always forgets to latch.
"And when they do⊠when I do⊠Iâm going to make sure she screams loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear."
Your pulse roared in h you're ears. You pushed off the couch on shaky legs, bare feet padding across the hardwood as you edged closer to Sukuna, trying to catch any fragment of the conversation.
The callerâs words were muffled now, but you could still make out the cadenceâslow, deliberate, savoring every syllable. Your tomach twisted. You reached out, fingers brushing Sukunaâs sleeve, but he shook his head once, sharp and warning.
"Youâre not scaring anyone," Sukuna said, voice calm but edged with steel. "Whatever game youâre playing, it ends here."
"Game?" The caller laughed again, louder this time, the sound crackling through the receiver. "This isnât a game, pretty boy. This is foreplay. And Y/N⊠sheâs been such a good little participant. Answering every call, staying on the line just a little longer each time. She likes the attention, doesnât she? Likes knowing someoneâs thinking about her. Watching her. Wanting her."
The line went quiet for a beat, then the voice returned, colder. "I can see the living room from here. The curtains are open just enough. I see you standing there, trying to play the hero. But heroes die first in these kinds of stories. You should know that."
Sukunaâs eyes flicked toward the front windows, scanning the darkness beyond the glass. Nothing moved. The street outside looked empty, but the hair on the back of his neck stood up anyway. "Keep talking. Iâm tracing this call right now."
"Liar," the caller purred. "Youâre not tracing anything. Youâre just standing there, listening, wondering how fast you can get Y/N out of the house before I come inside. But you wonât make it. Iâm already closer than you think."
Your hand flew to your mouth. You could hear it nowâthe faint, rhythmic breathing on the other end, the way the caller seemed to be savoring the silence between words. Your mind raced back to every late-night conversation you had with this voice, every threat disguised as a question, every detail theyâd known about your life that no stranger should. The realization hit you like ice water: this wasnât random. This was personal.
"Did you think it would be over?" the Caller repeated, voice rising with something almost giddy. "Did you really believe Iâd just stop? After all the fun weâve had? After I told you exactly how Iâd gut those pretty insides of yours if you ever think to hang up on me? No, Y/n. Weâre just getting started. And tonight⊠tonight Iâm tired of talking. Tonight I want to see you in person."
A soft click echoed through the line, followed by the dial tone. Sukuna slammed the receiver down harder than necessary, the plastic cracking against the cradle. He turned to you, mouth opening to say something, but the words died on his tongue when the unmistakable sound of shattering glass exploded from the kitchen.
The back door had been forced. Shards of the small window pane littered the tile floor, and through the jagged opening a tall figure in a flowing black robe and a stark white ghost mask stepped inside. The knife in their gloved hand caught the low light from the living room lamp, the blade long and serrated, already dripping with something dark.
Sukuna moved first. He lunged forward, grabbing the intruderâs wrist before the knife could arc toward his chest. The two men collided hard against the kitchen island, grunting as they grappled.
Sukunaâs free hand drove a brutal punch into the side of the mask, the plastic cracking under the force. The killer staggered but didnât release the blade. Instead they twisted, driving the knife upward into Sukunaâs side with a sickening wet sound.
Sukunaâs breath punched out of him in a sharp grunt, blood immediately soaking through his shirt and down his hip.
You screamed. didnât thinkâyou just moved. Your fingers closed around the heavy wooden frame of a portrait hanging near the hallway entrance. You ripped it off the wall and swung with everything you had.
The corner of the frame connected with the back of the killerâs head in a loud crack. The masked figure dropped to one knee, releasing Sukunaâs side as they clutched at their skull. The knife clattered to the floor.
"Come on!" You grabbed Sukunaâs arm, hauling him toward the stairs even as blood continued to seep between his fingers where he pressed against the wound. Behind them the killer was already rising, mask askew, knife retrieved, boots pounding across the hardwood in pursuit.
They reached the top of the stairs just as the first heavy thud hit the bedroom door. Sukuna slammed it shut with his good shoulder, twisting the lock with shaking fingers.
You dragged your desk chair across the room and wedged it under the knob while Sukuna shoved her nightstand against the door for good measure. The barricade rattled violently as the killer threw their full weight against it from the other side, each impact making the wood groan.
"Phone," Sukuna rasped, sliding down the wall to sit with his back against the barricade, one hand still clamped over his bleeding side. "Call 911. Now."
Your hands trembled so badly you nearly dropped the cordless phone twice before you managed to dial the three numbers.
The line rang once, twice, while the pounding on the door grew louder, more frantic, the killerâs boots kicking hard enough to make the hinges shriek. Sukunaâs breathing was labored, but his crimson eyes stayed locked on the door, ready to move again if the barricade failed.
The operatorâs voice finally crackled through. "911, whatâs your emergency?"
Your voice came out thin and shaking. "Someoneâs in the house. They broke in. My friendâs hurtâheâs bleeding. Please send help. Please."
Another thunderous kick shook the door. The killerâs voice, no longer filtered through the phone, rose from the hallway in a low, mocking sing-song. "Y/N⊠open up. Weâre not finished yet."
Sukuna gritted his teeth, pressing harder against the wound as fresh blood welled between his fingers. The night outside the bedroom window remained dark and silent, offering no help, no sirens yet, nothing but the relentless, furious pounding of the killer trying to break through.
Sukunaâs crimson eyes stayed locked on the bedroom door as another violent kick slammed into the wood from the other side. The hinges groaned under the force, the entire frame shuddering like it might tear free from the wall at any second.
Splinters flew from the edges where the killerâs boot connected again and again, each impact louder than the last. He could see the door bowing inward, the cheap lock already cracked and useless.
Without wasting another second he pushed himself up from the floor despite the burning pain in his side, blood still seeping between his fingers.
He grabbed the heavy dresser next to your bed and dragged it across the carpet with a grunt, muscles straining as he wedged it against the barricade. The nightstand and chair shifted but held for now.
Your gaze darted around the room in panic until it landed on the window. The sash was cracked open just enough for a breeze to slip through, the curtains fluttering slightly. your stomach dropped.
Had the killer been inside the whole time? Watching them from the shadows while they were downstairs? Had he been the one making those calls from within the house itself, listening to every word, every breath? The thought made her skin crawl.
Questions flooded your mind in a dizzying rushâhow long had the intruder been there? Had he followed them up the stairs? Was he the reason the back door had been so easy to break? You're hands shook harder as she stared at the open window, heart hammering against your ribs.
Sukunaâs voice cut through the spiral. âY/n. Look at me. Breathe. We donât have time for that right now.â
Another thunderous kick rocked the door. The dresser scraped an inch across the floor. The killerâs gloved hand appeared through the widening gap, fingers clawing at the wood as they tried to force their way inside. The maskâs empty black eyes seemed to stare straight through the crack, the serrated knife flashing in the low light.
âFuck,â Sukuna hissed, grabbing your arm and yanking you toward the window. âNothingâs holding. We have to go.â
They heard it at the same timeâthe distant wail of sirens cutting through the night. Relief mixed with fresh terror as Sukuna shoved the window open wider and helped you climb out onto the roof.
He followed right behind, ignoring the sharp pain in his side as they slid down the shingles and dropped to the grass below. Your bare feet hit the ground hard, and you stumbled forward, tears already streaming down your face. Your whole body shook uncontrollably, sobs tearing from your throat as the adrenaline crashed through your system.
Sukuna pulled you against his chest the moment they reached the front yard, one arm wrapped tight around your shoulders while his other hand stayed pressed to his bleeding wound.
âIâve got you,â he muttered against your hair, voice low and steady even as his own breathing came ragged. âYouâre okay. Weâre out. Police are here.â
Two patrol cars screeched to a stop at the curb, lights flashing red and blue across the lawn. Officers poured out with flashlights and drawn weapons, shouting orders as they rushed toward the house.
You buried your face in Sukunaâs shirt, still trembling so hard your teeth chattered. The killerâs voice echoed in your head even nowâthe sing-song taunt from the hallway, the threats over the phone. You couldnât stop crying, couldnât stop the helpless shakes that wracked your frame.
Sukuna held you tighter, ignoring the blood soaking into his clothes as he guided you toward the officers. One of them approached quickly, radio crackling at his hip. âMaâam, sirâare you hurt? We need to get you checked out.â
You could only nod weakly, still clinging to Sukuna as the police moved past them and into the house, flashlights sweeping through the darkness. The sirens continued to wail in the background while the officers searched room by room, their voices echoing from inside.
Sukuna kept one arm around you, crimson eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement, refusing to let go even as more backup arrived on the scene.
ââ á ââ
The police lights painted the front of your house in harsh, rotating colors that didnât feel real against how drained everything inside you already was. You stood near the edge of the yard without really standing straight, body still locked in that leftover shock that hadnât fully caught up with your breathing yet, your hands shaking in small, delayed tremors every time your mind replayed something you didnât want to see again.
Officers moved in and out of your house with practiced urgency, calling out to each other, checking rooms, doors, windows, speaking in that calm official tone that somehow made everything feel even less real than it already did. You could hear fragments of it all but none of it fully stayedâjust pieces floating in and out like your brain couldnât decide what mattered anymore.
Sukuna was off to the side getting checked by paramedics, sitting in a way that looked too controlled for someone who had just gone through what he did, jaw tight even as someone asked him questions he barely answered.
There was a stain of blood at his side where the injury had been, nothing dramatic in how it looked, but enough to make your stomach twist every time your eyes accidentally landed on it because it meant the moment inside the house had been real, not something your mind had exaggerated.
Every so often his eyes flicked toward you instead of the officers, like he was checking without needing permission, making sure you were still there, still upright, still not slipping further into whatever state youâd been stuck in since it happened.
And you were still stuck in it.
In your head, the house wasnât outside anymoreâit was still that room upstairs, still the door shaking under impact, still that voice through the phone sounding calm while everything around you turned sharp and violent.
You couldnât shake the way he laughed like he already belonged there, like your panic had been something it expected, even enjoyed. Even now, standing in open air, you kept replaying the sound of it, the timing of it, the certainty in it. It didnât feel like fear anymore. It felt like being watched even after it was over.
That was when you saw Gojo.
He was standing a little farther down the yard with something still in his handsâmovie cases, completely forgotten now, hanging loosely like his grip had gone absent without him noticing. His expression didnât match his usual energy at all.
There was confusion first, sharp and immediate, and then something heavier underneath it when his eyes landed properly on you, like his brain was trying to catch up to a reality that didnât make sense with what he left behind.
The second he processed it, he dropped everything without hesitation, the cases hitting the ground with a dull sound that didnât even register properly in the chaos, and he was already moving toward you.
âHeyâwhat the hell happened?â he asked, voice lower than usual, no humor in it, just disbelief trying to anchor itself to something solid.
You barely had time to process him before he was in front of you, hands hovering for half a second like he wasnât sure if touching you was the right thing, before he just pulled you into a tight, abrupt hug anyway.
It wasnât playful like he usually was. It was immediate, instinctive, like he had decided without thinking that you were the thing that mattered most in that moment. You could feel how fast he was breathing against you when he spoke again, quieter now, âTalk to me. What the hell happened in there?â
And when you did try to speak, it all came out at once, messy and uneven, not even in orderâhow the mysterious caller came back, how the voice changed, how it knew things it shouldnât have known, how it felt like it was inside the house before anything even broke, how Sukuna picked up and everything shifted, how the fighting started, how the door shook so violently it felt like it wouldnât hold, how you didnât even think before grabbing what you could to help, how everything became movement and panic and noise until there was no space left for anything else.
Gojo went still in a way that didnât match him at all as he listened, his usual grin completely gone, replaced with something sharper, more focused, like he was trying to map every word into something he could understand and fix.
Behind you, Sukuna had already pushed himself off the medical support and was walking closer despite the pain he wasnât showing properly. His gaze stayed fixed on you while Gojo processed everything, but there was something different in his expression now tooâless controlled than before, not shaken exactly, but aware in a way that felt heavier, like he was replaying the same moments you were but from a different angle.
âSomeone was inside your house,â Gojo finally said, slower now, like saying it too quickly would make it more real than it already was.
You didnât answer right away. You couldnât. Your throat tightened instead, eyes drifting back toward the house like it might give you something you missed, something that would explain how any of this even happened. âI donât know,â you said finally, voice quieter than before. âI donât know if he was already in there or if the windowâif I left it open orââ
Sukuna cut in immediately, not harsh, just steady in a way that grounded the spiral starting in your head. âIt doesnât matter right now.â
You looked at him, confused.
âIt does matter,â you said, but it came out weaker than you meant.
âNo,â he repeated, stepping closer until he was directly in your line of sight, voice low enough that it wasnât for anyone else, only you. âRight now what matters is youâre out of there.â
The certainty in his tone made something in your chest tighten in a way that wasnât just fear anymore, but exhaustion finally cracking through it. Gojo, still standing beside you, glanced between the two of you like he wanted to interrupt with something lighter, something that made sense of it, but even he couldnât find it this time. Instead, he just exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair.
âThis is insane,â he muttered, but it didnât sound like a joke anymore. It sounded like he was trying to accept it.
Around you, neighbors had started gathering further down the street, voices low but constant, curiosity bleeding into fear, phones out, whispers spreading too fast. Reporters were already pushing closer at the edges of the police line, trying to get statements, trying to turn something that was still happening into something consumable. Sukunaâs head turned slightly toward them, expression hardening immediately.
âFuck off,â he snapped sharply when one of them tried stepping closer, and even the officers nearby didnât fully argue with the tone of it.
But none of that noise really reached you fully. Not anymore.
Because your mind kept going back to the room upstairs. To the window. To the possibility that you had never actually been alone at any point that night.
And that thought wouldnât leave.
Gojo noticed your silence again, softer this time. âHey,â he said, more carefully now, âyouâre not staying there tonight. You shouldnât even think about it.â
Sukunaâs voice came right after, steady as ever but quieter than before. âCome with us.â
It wasnât framed as a question.
It was a line drawn.
You shook your head slightly, overwhelmed more than anything else, because the idea of going back inside any house tonight felt impossible, but the idea of going anywhere with the weight of everything still sitting in your chest felt just as hard. âI⊠I canât go back there,â you admitted finally, voice breaking at the end despite how hard you tried to hold it together.
There was a brief pause between them, something unspoken passing that you didnât fully catch, but it shifted the air anyway.
Then you reached for your phone with shaking hands and stepped away slightly, turning your back just enough to breathe. âIâm calling Shoko,â you said quietly. âI needâsomeone I can just⊠stay with tonight.â
Neither of them stopped you.
But you felt it anywayâthe way they both reacted without saying anything, like that answer meant something more than just a plan change.
Minutes later, when Shoko arrived and stepped out of her car, she took in the scene immediatelyâthe police, the house, your face, the state of everything without needing anyone to explain it. She didnât ask questions first. She just walked straight to you and pulled you into a hug that felt steady in a way nothing else had all night.
And only after a moment did she look up at Gojo and Sukuna, voice flat but sharp with concern.
âWhat the hell happened?â
Neither of them answered right away.
Because for once, even they didnât have a clean way to say it.
ââ á ââ
Sukuna is the one who ends up explaining it, not because he wants to, but because no one else can really piece it together in a way that makes sense without it sounding like panic. His voice stays steady the entire time, low and controlled, but thereâs a tension underneath it that wasnât there beforeâlike heâs forcing himself to replay something he doesnât actually want to revisit.
He talks about the call first, how it started the same as before but felt different this time, less like a game and more like something watching from the other side of the line. Then the shift, how the sound in the house changed, how it stopped feeling like coincidence when the noises started coming from inside instead of outside.
He doesnât exaggerate, doesnât dramatize it, but that almost makes it worse, because every detail he gives lands too cleanly, too real, like heâs describing something that still hasnât fully left the room.
Shoko listens without interrupting, arms crossed loosely, expression unreadable in that way she has when sheâs processing something too fast to immediately react to it. She glances once at you while Sukuna speaks, then back toward him, absorbing it all without asking for repetition, and when he finally finishes, thereâs a long pause where nobody speaks because there isnât really anything obvious to say first.
The police begin stepping out of your house around the same time, speaking to each other in low voices, confirming that the search is complete, that thereâs no one left inside, that the situation is âcontained,â even though nobody there looks like they fully believes that word means anything right now.
One of them gestures toward the crowd and tells everyone to clear the area, go home, give space, like itâs just procedure and not something that just cracked open everyoneâs sense of safety.
Thatâs when Shoko shifts her attention fully to you.
âYouâre coming with me,â she says simply, not like a suggestion, not even like a decision that needs input, just something already decided the moment she saw your face.
You barely get a chance to nod before movement breaks out near the edge of the scene. Reporters have gotten closer again, microphones already up, voices overlapping, asking questions that donât feel real in the middle of everything that just happened.
You hear your name first, then words like incident, attack, what did you see, all blending together in a way that makes your stomach twist because it feels too immediate, too invasive, like theyâre trying to turn something still bleeding into something performable.
One of them steps directly into your path, a woman holding her mic up like sheâs entitled to answers, her tone sharp in that practiced way that tries to sound calm while pushing anyway. âCan you describe what it felt like being inside the house during the attack? Were you alone when it happened?â
Something in you snapsânot loud, not dramatic, just fast.
You stop walking.
The crowd doesnât immediately understand whatâs about to happen, not until your expression changes and you turn fully toward her. Thereâs a second where everything feels suspended, like even the noise behind her lowers just slightly, and then your hand moves before your thoughts catch up.
The impact is quick and clean, not exaggerated, but enough that the reporter stumbles back in shock, her mic dropping slightly as the crowd immediately reacts like theyâve just witnessed something they didnât expect from you.
For a second, nobody speaks.
Then everything erupts at onceâgasps, murmurs, someone calling your name, someone else telling you to move, cameras shifting rapidly. But you donât stay to hear any of it. Shoko is already opening the car door, and you get inside without looking back again, your hands still shaking slightly from adrenaline that hasnât fully burned off yet.
Gojo calls your name once from behind, but you donât turn.
Sukuna doesnât call out.
He just watches as Shoko closes the door and starts the engine.
The car pulls away, and the sound of the crowd fades behind you, replaced by silence that feels heavier in its own way.
The drive to Shokoâs place is quiet for a while. Not uncomfortable, just full in a way that doesnât need words immediately. You sit in the passenger seat, staring out the window without really focusing on anything, replaying fragments of the night in pieces you still canât fully organize into something that makes sense. Shoko doesnât push you to talk. She just drives, occasionally glancing at you like sheâs making sure youâre still present, still here, still real.
When you finally arrive, she doesnât waste time.
âYouâre staying here,â she says as she unlocks her door, tone flat but certain. âAs long as you need. Donât argue.â
You donât.
Inside, her place feels quieter than yours in a way thatâs different, less haunted, more grounded. Like nothing bad has ever really been allowed to linger here long enough to settle. She leads you to her room without much ceremony, and you end up sitting on her bed first, then slowly lying down as the exhaustion finally catches up with everything your body has been ignoring all night.
Shoko sits beside you for a while, leaning back slightly, staring at the ceiling like sheâs thinking through too many things at once.
After a moment, she lets out a small breath.
âThose two,â she says casually, like sheâs commenting on something mildly annoying instead of life-threatening situations, âyour beavis and butthead duo⊠they always like this or is today special?â
Despite everything, a weak sound almost leaves you that mightâve been a laugh if your chest didnât feel so heavy. You turn your head slightly toward her.
âNo,â you say quietly. âSukuna was with me the whole time. Gojo left to get better movies.â
Shoko hums, like sheâs filing that away without judgment. âRight. Of course he did.â
Thereâs another pause after that, more natural this time. She pulls a blanket slightly over you without making it feel like a big gesture, just something automatic, like sheâs decided you donât get to deal with anything else tonight.
âGet some sleep,â she says after a while, already shifting to lie down beside you but not too close, giving you space without leaving you alone in it. âNothing else you can do tonight anyway.â
You donât answer immediately.
Your eyes stay open longer than they should, staring at the dim edge of the room, listening to Shokoâs breathing settle into something steady.
But your mind doesnât settle.
Because even now, even here, safe and away from it all, you canât stop replaying what she said earlier.
Do you think those twoâ
You turn your head slightly, just enough to glance at the dark ceiling.
And somewhere in the back of your mind, despite everything that just happened, you canât help it.
You wonder.
ââ á ââ
Morning doesnât really feel like morning when it starts with Shoko pulling the blanket off you and lightly smacking you in the shoulder with a pillow like sheâs trying to restart your entire existence instead of just waking you up. You barely move at first, still half stuck in that heavy in-between state where sleep didnât actually fix anything and your brain is already remembering things you werenât ready to think about again. Shoko doesnât say anything soft or careful about it, she just looks down at you with that tired expression of hers and sighs like sheâs already made up her mind.
âGet up,â she says bluntly, tossing the pillow back onto the bed. âWeâre going to campus."
You groan quietly into the blanket but don't really argue, mostly because your body feels too heavy to properly resist anything yet. The idea of going back to campus after everything feels almost unreal, like youâre stepping into a place that shouldâve paused while you were gone and somehow didnât.
The walk there doesnât help.
If anything, it makes it worse.
Campus feels different the moment you get close to itânot quieter, not calmer, just sharper. Like everyone already knows something about you before you even fully step through the gates. The shift is immediate; conversations lower just slightly when you pass, heads turning in that subtle way that pretends not to stare while still staring anyway. You catch fragments as you walk pastâyour name, the word âhouse,â âattack,â ânewsââall broken up into pieces that never fully form something respectful.
Itâs not fear in their voices.
Itâs curiosity.
And something worse underneath it.
Entertainment.
You keep your eyes forward, shoulders tight, while Shoko walks beside you like none of it is worth slowing down for. Someone calls out something behind youâhalf question, half jokeâbut she doesnât even turn around. She just pushes forward through the crowd without hesitation, making space by existing in it like she refuses to acknowledge the noise.
âHey, isnât that her?â someone says louder.
âDude, she actually punched that reporterââ
âThat was insane, though.â
You hear it all even when you try not to.
Shoko clicks her tongue once, annoyed now, and pushes through a cluster of students blocking the hallway until the noise thins just enough for you to breathe again. Thatâs when you see them.
Gojo is leaning against a railing like heâs been waiting there on purpose, hands in his pockets, expression already lighting up when he spots you. Sukuna is a little further back, standing instead of sitting, posture the same as always but his eyes immediately landing on you like theyâve been checking for you before anything else in the room.
You donât even realize youâre walking toward them until you are.
âHow are you guys?â you ask before you can overthink it, voice quieter than you intended.
Gojo reacts first, like he always does, grin snapping back into place immediately even though thereâs something about his eyes that doesnât fully match it. âAlive, unfortunately. I was really hoping for a quieter morning.â
You let out a small breath through your nose despite yourself.
âThatâs not funny,â you say automatically.
âItâs a little funny,â he shrugs. âIn a tragic, character-development kind of way.â
Shoko exhales like sheâs already tired of him being alive in general. âIâm going to the cafeteria. Donât let him say anything stupid while Iâm gone.â
Sukuna doesnât look at her, but his voice is flat when he answers anyway. âNo promises.â
That earns him a side-eye from Gojo immediately.
âYouâre so supportive,â Gojo mutters.
Shoko doesnât respond. She just looks at you once, briefly, something quieter in her expression now before she turns away. âSee you later.â
And then sheâs gone.
That leaves you standing there with them.
Which somehow feels louder than the hallway.
Students pass by in waves now that Shoko isnât blocking the path, and with it comes attention againâmore obvious this time. You hear it before you see it. Whispered comments, laughter that doesnât bother hiding itself, phones subtly angled like people are already recording without actually recording. Someone nearby whispers, âThatâs her, right?â like youâre not standing two feet away.
Then another voice, louder, careless: âBro she actually hit a reporter. Thatâs kinda hotâ
You stop walking for half a second without meaning to.
Gojo hears it too, but instead of reacting the way you expect, he just tilts his head slightly and mutters, âYeah, that was kind of hot, not gonna lie.â
âGojo,â you say immediately, warning in your tone.
âWhat? Iâm being supportive.â
Sukuna finally shifts his gaze slightly toward the crowd, eyes narrowing just enough that the people closest instinctively quiet down, like something about his stare registers as a line they shouldnât cross even if no one says it out loud.
You donât stay there long.
Itâs too much attention, too many eyes, too many voices pretending theyâre not talking about you while absolutely talking about you.
âI need to go,â you say suddenly, already stepping back.
Gojo lifts a hand slightly like heâs about to joke again, then seems to think better of it. âBathroom break or emotional escape?â
You ignore him and keep walking.
Behind you, you hear Sukunaâs voice, lower than the rest.
âSheâs not fine.â
And then Gojo, quieter than before. âYeah. No shit.â
But youâre already gone before either of them can say anything else.
The bathroom is empty when you get there, which is the first relief youâve had all morning. You shut the door behind you and just stand there for a second, hands braced lightly against the sink as your reflection stares back at you like it doesnât quite match what you feel inside.
Because it doesnât.
Nothing about today feels normal.
Nothing about you does either.
And for a moment, in the quiet, you let yourself breathe without anyone watching.
Just for a second.
The bathroom was quiet enough that you could finally hear yourself think, which was exactly why you stayed in the stall longer than necessary, sitting with your elbows resting on your knees while you stared down at the cracked tile floor beneath the door and tried to force your brain into something calmer than whatever the hell this entire day had become.
Ever since you got to campus it felt like every hallway turned into a spotlight the second you walked through it, conversations lowering just enough for you to notice, eyes flicking toward you and away again like people were trying to decide whether you were interesting or dangerous or just something to talk about until they got bored.
You closed your eyes for a second, not because you were relaxed, but because you were tired in a way that sat behind your ribs and refused to go away no matter how much you tried to ignore it, and the moment you did, everything from the last night started slipping back in anywayâthe phone call, the voice, the way it spoke like it already knew how your life fit together better than you did, and the worst part was that even now, in a public bathroom with fluorescent lights buzzing above you, part of you still felt like it was somewhere nearby watching instead of gone.
The bathroom door opened suddenly, snapping you out of your thoughts so fast your body went still without permission, and a group of girls walked in laughing like they owned the space, voices bouncing off the mirrors while they fixed their hair and leaned into each other like nothing outside of themselves mattered.
At first you tried to tune them out, staring down again and telling yourself it wasnât worth it, it never was, until one of them said your name in that careless tone people use when they donât think the person theyâre talking about can hear them.
âDoesnât it feel kind of off though?â one of them said, laughing a little like she already knew she was going to be agreed with.
Another voice cut in immediately, sharper, more certain. âThank you, Iâve been saying that. Everyoneâs acting like itâs all just happening to her for no reason, but itâs weird, right? Like what are the chances.â
You felt your shoulders tighten slightly at the sink even though you were still hidden in the stall, your body reacting before your mind fully caught up, because now you were listening even though you didnât want to be.
âIâm just saying,â another girl added, âfirst the calls, then the whole campus situation, then sheâs suddenly everywhere after that reporter thing? Itâs like it keeps escalating around her specifically.â
A small laugh followed that didnât sound like humor so much as curiosity being disguised as confidence. âPeople do weird things for attention, Iâm not even trying to be mean, but like⊠it adds up.â
Your fingers curled slowly against your palm without you noticing at first, your nails pressing into skin just enough to ground you because otherwise you werenât sure what youâd do with all the heat building behind your ribs.
Not because you believed them, but because of how easily they were saying it, like they were piecing together a story about someone theyâd never actually looked at properly.
âHonestly,â one of them said after a pause, voice dropping slightly like she was enjoying it more now, âif sheâs involved in something, that would explain a lot.â
That earned a laugh from the group.
âStop, thatâs insane,â someone said, but she was laughing too.
âImagine though,â another added, âplot twist sheâs actually the killer.â
More laughter, louder this time, like it was funny to make something like that into a joke instead of a person.
You pressed your tongue lightly against the inside of your cheek, trying not to react, because reacting would mean giving them something they didnât deserve, but it was getting harder to stay still the longer they talked like your entire life was just a theory they were running for entertainment.
Eventually one of them checked her phone and sighed like she was bored already.
âWeâre gonna be late.â
âYeah, whatever.â
Their footsteps shifted toward the door, voices fading back into the hallway like nothing had happened at all, and one of them laughed one last time before leaving.
âIf she is the killer, I hope she doesnât stab me for saying that.â
The door shut.
Silence dropped back into the bathroom like it had been waiting.
You stayed in the stall for a few seconds longer than you needed to, not because you were scared, but because anger didnât really know where to go when there was nowhere to aim it, and when you finally stood up, you didnât look at the mirror right away because you already knew what your face would look like if you did.
By the time you washed your hands and stepped out, youâd already rebuilt your expression into something neutral enough to pass for normal, even if it didnât feel like it belonged to you anymore.
ââ á ââ
First period didnât feel any easier.
Shoko noticed you the second you sat down beside her, not because you said anything different, but because you didnât say anything at all, just dropped into your seat a little too carefully like you were trying not to spill something inside yourself, and when she glanced at you, her expression shifted slightly into something more observant than usual.
âYou okay?â she asked, not softly, just direct, like she already knew what the answer probably wasnât going to be.
You shrugged once, forcing it to look casual even though it felt off the second it left you. âIâm fine.â
Her eyes stayed on you for a moment longer than comfortable, reading the space between your words more than the words themselves, then she leaned back in her chair slightly with a small exhale.
âYou look pissed.â
âIâm not,â you said, a little too quickly.
That earned a quiet look from her, the kind that didnât accuse you of lying but didnât believe you either.
âYouâre a terrible liar,â she said finally.
A small almost-smile pulled at your mouth before you could stop it, but it didnât fully land, so you just looked away instead and opened your notebook like that would fix anything.
âCan we not do this right now?â you muttered.
Shoko didnât push it further, just nodded once and turned her attention forward again, but the silence between you didnât feel empty, it felt full of things neither of you were saying.
ââ á ââ
The announcement came later in the day when nobody expected anything more than normal class updates, the intercom crackling overhead and pulling the entire room into attention out of habit more than concern at first, because announcements were usually nothing important, just schedule changes or reminders or things people ignored while scrolling on their phones.
âStudents and staff,â the voice began, and something about the tone immediately made the room feel different.
It wasnât calm.
It was controlled.
Like the person speaking was holding something back.
âPlease remain calm. Due to an emergency situation on campus, classes are being dismissed early today.â
A few students straightened slightly, confused more than alarmed, but nobody fully reacted yet because âearly dismissalâ didnât mean anything serious on its own.
Then the pause came.
A fraction of silence that lasted just long enough to feel wrong.
âWe have received confirmation that the principal was found deceased earlier this morning.â
For a second, the room didnât understand what it had heard.
It just hung there.
Too heavy to process immediately.
Then everything broke at once.
Voices erupted across the classroom, chairs shifting violently, someone laughing like they didnât know how else to respond, someone else swearing under their breath, the teacher trying to speak over all of it and failing almost instantly.
You didnât move right away.
You just sat there, staring at nothing in particular, because your brain was still trying to decide whether this was real or just another thing being added to a list that was already too long to make sense of.
And in the noise of everyone else reacting, one thought pushed through anyway, cold and unavoidable.
This wasnât random anymore.
Not to you.
Not in your life.
Something was connected, even if you couldnât see how yet.
And that realization made the room feel a lot smaller than it was supposed to be.
Comments and reblogs are appreciated âĄ
(This a continuation to part 1 !!! If you haven't read, lmk if you wanna be tagged for part 3)
a string of murders haunts your city, and when the masked man whoâs been calling finally comes for you, he doesnât want your life, he wants your body*. â 1.5k words
cw: smut. fem!reader. home invasion. stalking. obsession. dubcon. oral (fem!receiving). fear play. mask stays on. piv. unprotected sex. light choking. praise and degradation. knife use (no blood tho). forced restraint. creampie. no safeword. cursing.
a/n: idk how to feel about this one, i just needed to do something about ghostface!simon. remember english isn't my first language!
it starts with a phone call.
it's late, past midnight. you're half-asleep on the couch, phone slipping from your hand when it buzzes with a number you donât recognize.
you answer anyway.
ââŠhello?â
at first, thereâs silence. a static crackle.
then a voice, low, distorted, mechanical, scrapes into your ear like gravel over a speaker.
âyou sound sweet when youâre tired.â
you blink, pulse stuttering. âwhat?â
âmmm. I like it when you sound confused.â
you sit up. âwho the fuck is this?â
âwrong number,â the voice hums. âor maybe not.â
the call ends.
you stare at your screen. brow furrowed. a wrong number prank? a friend fucking with you?
you forget about it. for a while.
until the next night, and the one after that.
the calls keep coming.
every night around midnight.
always a different number. always that voice.
distorted. controlled. but always watching.
he never says your name, but you can tell he knows it. he makes references, to the show youâre watching, to what youâre wearing.
âthat blanketâs not hiding much, is it?â
âI liked the red set you wore last night better.â
âdo you always keep your hand under the waistband that long before you touch yourself?â
you try not to react. try not to let him know heâs scaring you. but your body gives you away.
he comments on that, too.
âyou breathe faster when youâre scared.â
âI bet youâre wet now. donât lie.â
âscared and turned on. my favorite combination.â
you call the police.
you file a report. they log it, tell you not to worry. âprobably a prank,â they say. âdonât engage. donât answer.â
you block every number. he always finds a new one.
your friends tell you to stay somewhere else. you refuse. youâre not going to be chased out of your own home.
but deep down, you know.
youâre not being pranked.
youâre being hunted.
then the murders start.
not far.
the first is downtown. a woman stabbed in her apartment. no signs of forced entry.
the second is just a mile away. a couple killed in their sleep. no witnesses. no suspects.
the media goes feral. ânew wave of ghostface copycats,â they say. âmodernized. smarter. crueler.â
and you start keeping a knife under your pillow.
the night it happens, youâre in bed. half-asleep. wearing nothing but one of your oversized tees and a thin pair of underwear.
itâs hot. the windows are cracked.
the air is quiet. dead quiet.
and then your phone buzzes.
unknown number.
you answer it without thinking. habit.
â...hello?â
you donât even get a word from him this time. just breathing.
long. slow. controlled.
you sit up.
ââŠwhat do you want?â
the silence stretches.
âI want to fuck you.â
you freeze.
âI had other plans for you,â he says. âbut youâve been such a good girl. so obedient. answering every night. letting me listen to those soft little moans when you thought no one was watching.â
your skin prickles.
âand now⊠I want something else.â
you hang up.
you reach for the knife.
you donât make it.
âcause heâs already in the room.
you scream. loud. raw.
a gloved hand clamps over your mouth.
you thrashâkick, elbow, twistâbut heâs huge. towering. broad. and strong enough to make it look easy.
youâre pinned flat on the bed in seconds, wrists trapped above your head. and that mask stares down at you.
ghostface.
except not the flimsy halloween kind. this oneâs reinforced. tactical. matte black and bone-white, custom-carved. sharp edges. dark eyes.
his voice is even more distorted in person.
âeven prettier up close.â
he lets go of your mouth just long enough for you to gasp, and for his other hand to catch your throat and squeeze. not hard. just enough to silence you.
âshhh. I don't want to hurt you⊠not unless you make me.â
youâre shaking. trying to scream again, but your breath wonât come.
he leans down.
âdonât worry, sweetheart. youâll like itâeventually.â
he lets go of your neck.
you try to bolt.
he catches you by the ankle and drags you back up the bed like itâs nothing. like you weigh nothing.
you scream again. he pins you harder.
you hear the click of a knife unsheathing, then cold steel touches your cheek.
he doesnât cut, just traces.
âso soft,â he murmurs.
the blade trails lower. down your jaw. your throat. between your breasts.
your chest heaves. your body shakes. but you donât fight, not anymore.
youâre too scared.
too still.
too wet.
and he notices.
âalready soaked?â he hums. âknew youâd be a little slut under all that attitude. so fucking ready to be taken.â
he cuts your shirt off.
just slices down the middle.
the fabric falls open. your nipples harden in the cold air.
you make a sound, something between a whimper and a sob.
âlook at that. so shy now.â
he kneels between your legs.
you try to kick him again, and this time he laughs.
âcute.â
then he grabs your panties and rips them down.
âplease,â you whisper.
you donât even know what youâre asking for.
âyou want me to stop?â his head tilts. âsay it, and I will.â
you open your mouth.
nothing comes out.
youâre terrified. shaking. but thereâs heat spreading fast between your legs. a pulse thudding low in your belly. your cunt is soaked and clenching for something you donât want to name.
he sees it all.
âdidnât think so.â
his gloves come off.
his bare fingers are warm where they slide between your thighs and spread your folds open.
you choke on a sob.
âfuck,â he breathes. âyouâre dripping.â
he leans in. presses the mask to your inner thigh. inhales.
âyou smell like heaven. no wonder i couldnât stay away.â
his mouth is on you so fast you barely have time to process it.
you cry out.
itâs wet, hot, overwhelmingâhis tongue flat and greedy, licking up your slit with filthy groans that vibrate into your bones.
he eats like a man starved. hands locked on your thighs, holding you open.
he doesn't stop when you shake.
doesnât stop when you plead.
he licks and sucks until youâre crying and coming and trying to crawl away.
but he doesn't let you.
he just growls, âwhere do you think youâre going?â and buries two fingers inside you.
you arch off the bed with a sob.
âso fucking tight.â
âyour pussyâs perfect. fuck.â
he curls his fingers, finding your sweet spot instantly.
you scream.
âlouder.â
he adds a third and makes you come again.
harder.but you canât stop it.
youâre sobbing, trembling, breaking, and he loves it.
âthatâs it. let me see you fall apart.â
he pulls back just enough to press a gloved hand to your throat again.
âone more.â
âgonna make you gush for me.â
you do.
you come a third time with a scream that rips through your throat, soaking his hand, your sheets, everything.
you canât think. you canât breathe.
and then you feel it.
his big, meaty cock pressing to your entrance.
âready for me, pretty girl?â
you shake your head. ân-no, Iââ
âthatâs not a noâthatâs a scared yes.â
he pushes in.
all the way.
slow. deliberate. huge.
you sob. youâre so full it aches.
âtightest cunt iâve ever felt,â he groans. âfuck, I was gonna gut you, you know? slice you open and watch the light leave your eyes... but then I thought, why waste something so fuckable?ââ
he starts to move.
and you break.
you lose track after the fifth orgasm.
you cry. you beg. you come. you plead again.
he doesn't stop.
he fucks you like he owns you.
whispers praise and filth in your ear.
âsuch a good girl.â
âso pretty when you cry.â
âyou were made for this.â
âmade for me.â
you donât know whatâs worse, the pain or the pleasure.
he presses his mask to yours. kisses you through it. you moan into the hard plastic, delirious, ruined.
âI was going to kill you,â he murmurs. âbut i think iâll keep you instead.â
when he finally comes, itâs inside you.
he groans like an animal. burying himself deep. holding you still.
âmine.â
he doesnât pull out right away. just lies there. heavy. breathing hard.
then finally, he gets up. adjusts the mask.
you lie there. trembling. legs spread. slick everywhere.
dazed, ruined and empty.
he tucks himself away, leans over you one last time.
âyouâll see me again.â
you blink. your lips part. âw-what?â
he strokes your cheek through the glove.
âyouâre mine now.â
he disappears into the dark.
the next morning, you wake up alone.
the front doorâs locked. windows shut.
your knife, once hidden, is nowhere to be found.
there are no signs he was ever here except for the ache between your legs, the bruises on your hips and the cum dripping from your thighs.
your phone buzzes.
unknown number.
you answer it with trembling fingers.
a voice, low, amused, filters through the speaker.
âmiss me yet, sweetheart?â
you don't answer.
you just lie back on the bed, eyes wide and your pulse racing.
