in today's broadcast: boyfailure!yan!vivien hugo has spoken to exactly two women throughout his life. his mom, and his sister. aside from them, he's never had to desire to expand that list.
that is until his friend, loki, introduces one of his female friends to him, and it's instantly game over. even worse(or better) for vivien, loki's friend is as dumb as she is cute!
"i believe she was destined for me," he monologues in his interview, "you see, i've never even as much as thought-"
MDNI cw: fem!ditzy!reader, a look at the start of vivien's obsession, wingman loki (doomed reader fr) for this request!
julien glances up at the ornate clock on his wall and vivien absolutely hates the grin he sees forming on his friend’s face. his eyes narrow, “what’s gotten you so excited?”
julien only shrugs and checks his phone, but the near-diabolical turn his expression has taken does wonders for vivien’s anxiety, rightfully so, he’ll come to find out.
the doorbell ringing has vivien’s heart skipping a few beats. the most logical conclusion is that julien invited charles, but inviting charles would never warrant this type of secrecy. in fact, if it was charles, julien would’ve already hidden all of the snacks they had laid out on the table when vivien first came over. they don’t share a team besides the national, and have no other mutual friends.
with a spring in his step julien rushes to open the door, and while his cheery tone when greeting the mystery visitor is already strange enough, the female voice that followed nailed vivien in place. and as if that wasn’t bad enough, the moment you step into the room, it’s like his world flips upside down.
an airy, giggly tone. a smile so bright it nearly blinds him. eyes full of life, making him rethink his. and, oh.. oh, your body so soft, clad in the most flattering piece of fabric he’s ever laid his eyes upon. never before has vivien hugo been even remotely interested in any relations with women, his flippancy at the mere suggestion had a few eyebrows raising and he’s heard his fair share of ‘slay’ because of it also.. but now it is clear, it was merely because no other woman was you.
will his lack of experience come back to bite him? surely not.
when julien introduces you, your name flows like honey from even his teasing tone. a beautiful name, for an even more stunning lady. is what vivien wants to say, anyway. what actually comes out is a whole lot of nothing. instead, his face nearly matches his hair, eyes usually devoid of emotion now wide and bug-like.
julien looks like he’s seconds away from bursting out laughing while you look on between the two with a confusion so endearing it has vivien’s heart nearly bursting out of his chest, his hands itching to smother you into his chest and never let go.
it doesn’t get any better as the afternoon stretches into the evening.
at least, for vivien.
your head rests on julien’s shoulder while he has his arm casually over the backrest of the couch, his gaze aimed at vivien with a silent challenge. he knew you’re exactly vivien’s type, julien knows his friend’s type better than he does. if he even realized he had one at all.
“hey sweetheart,” he turns his head to look down at you. damn, he’s kind of regretting not keeping you to himself. the way your doe eyes go from the tv to him has that specific type of heat rushing to his face. “i think i forgot a few things at the store. mind staying with vivien for a bit?”
of course you don’t, the good girl that you are. truly perfect for vivien. vivien, whose gaze has been pointed at the back of julien’s head accusingly since the moment he called you ‘sweetheart’. hook, line and sinker.
he throws a lighthearted ‘behave’ over his shoulder, and off he goes. the click of the lock is like a gunshot to vivien who’s currently battling himself over whether to look at you or literally anywhere else.
but the urge to memorize every single detail about you wins, by a long shot.
so he looks up, and when he does he’s met with you already sitting next to him, the same doe eyes previously looking up at julien, now locked onto him. oh, he’d eat you out up if he could.
“hi,” you blink at him. “vivien is such a pretty name.”
he blinks back, trying his best to not let you see the heart attack you just caused him.
“...thanks,” is all he musters. your blinking is now synchronized.
it goes on for a while, the ticking of julien’s clock acting as a nice interval timer for your now-shared choice of how to spend your time with just the two of you.
it goes on until you can’t help yourself anymore, and burst out in a fit of giggles.
“you’re so cute, vivi!”
oh.
oh.
you’ve got a nickname for him already? well, don’t mind him, already writing his vows.
luckily for him, your laughter alleviates some of his distress, and a tiny smile ghosts over his lips. at first, the idea of being left alone with you was daunting, but now he kind of wishes julien will get hit by something on his way home, just so he can be alone with you just that tad bit longer.
but alas, things don’t always go his way.
the door opening again has an annoyance building up within him. the idea of you returning to your cuddle position with julien makes vivien grimace. he could just offer up his shoulder for you to cuddle up to.. but even the idea has his tongue tying into knots.
he’s ready to sulk in his spot, but he finds he doesn’t have to. you stay, seated approximately 20,7cm from him.
julien’s brow raises together with the corners of his lips. he of course has no way of knowing what happened while he was gone, which was nothing, but if you’re not running back to him, it must mean you’ve taken at least a bit of a liking to vivien. mission ‘get vivien laid/a girlfriend’ is off to a good start.
maybe it’s off to a bit too good of a start.
oh, if only julien knew what he started.
at first, vivien makes it a habit to scroll through your social media every day. just to see if he missed anything the day prior. pictures with friends, selfies, pictures of you in your room. he totally doesn’t zoom in on those.. and even if he did, it’s only to see if there are any ‘special’ men in your life. a recent picture of you with julien and his hand on your waist has him clenching his phone tightly in his hand. a bitter taste of copper on his tongue when he bites through his lip.
he doesn’t know exactly when it escalates. maybe it’s because he’s seen certain places resurfacing time and time again in the stories you post, but he finds himself visiting them often, when he never did before. his heart drops only slightly by the time he leaves with you nowhere near.
it’s when he’s alone with julien again that he dares ask. “did you invite her again?”
he doesn’t need to look back to know the expression his friend is wearing, “oh? why?”
vivien tries his best to stay unbothered by the teasing tone, but his voice shakes slightly anyway, “i was just curious.”
“why don’t you do it? i’ve seen you scroll her feed.”
that makes vivien sit up straighter, “no you haven’t.”
“oh, but i have,” julien chuckles, “i’ll just give you her number, then. how about that?”
yeah, as if he’ll ever get the courage to actually text you.
“i’d hurry up if i was you. she’s pretty popular with guys.”
oh, how coincidental. the courage just hit him. or was it anger?
that same evening, vivien lays in his bed, his daily ritual of examining your pictures and memorizing the plushies on your bed freshly finished. he stares at your empty chat as he tries to figure out how many y’s would be appropriate for his first ‘hey’.
he settles for 1.
➽──────────────❥
your nightly routine nearly done, face squeaky clean and moisturized and you’re ready to dive right into your bed when you receive a text from an unknown number.
unknown: hey.
unknown: it’s vivien. julien introduced us recently.
you: hi vivi!
you: what’s up!!
you grin, he was so cute last time you saw him. no one had ever indulged your weird quirks before. except sometimes julien did. which was also very cute.
vivi!: i’m going to that pink cafe tomorrow downtown. would you like to join me?
your eyes widen, fingers typing back so fast you knock your nail uncomfortably against the screen.
you: as in the one with the cats??? that’s my fave :O
you: i’d love to go! thank you!
vivi!: i’ll meet you there. 11?
you: u got it! <3
➽──────────────❥
it’s exactly 11:03AM the next day and you’re hurrying down the road as fast as the busy streets allow you. skirt fluttering around your thighs, the vaguely familiar burgundy head of hair finally comes into view. with heated cheeks and a sheepish smile, you wave, “hi, vivi!”
he nods, a small smile on his face, “hello.”
you clutch the strap of your purse, lip bitten in excitement. “this is one of my favorite spots. did jules tell you?”
vivien nods again, “something like that.”
the familiar interior has you smiling so bright it hurts your cheeks, and paired with your usual table being free, you simply have to pull vivien along by the hand to get to it as quickly as possible. the warmth is comforting in spite of the already very comfortable temperature both in- and outside the cafe. you barely even notice how he’s already tangled your fingers together.
“i don’t even have to look at the menu anymore,” you giggle excitedly, “i know it by heart!”
your chest warms at the way vivien’s looking at you so intently, his hand tightening around yours. has he even blinked? and more importantly, where did he get this white button-up and why is it making your mouth water?
suddenly, he gets up, “i’ll order for us. i’ll be right back.”
you can only nod before he’s off. you didn’t even tell him your order..
brows furrowed, you bite your lip, deep in thought. he’s so… polite. cold, almost. julian laughs with you a lot more.
but he’s hot. like, really hot. the rolled up sleeves of his shirt expose his forearms so deliciously you kinda want to bite them. the thought has you glancing over, which then results in a double-take as you register how big he actually is. his back is so broad his shirt barely accommodates it!
yet, you force yourself to look away. he probably just invited you because he was going anyway and julian must’ve told him you liked this place too. very sweet, but probably entirely stemming from politeness. nothing more.
the slice of cake placed in front of you startles you out of your internal monologue and your jaw goes slack. how’d he know..?
your eyes shoot up to vivien who’s casually taking his seat back across from you. his own eclair in front of him. he raises a brow, “everything alright?”
you nod eagerly, “what a lucky guess!”
“yeah,” he smiles, though it definitely looks like it could be a smirk. either way it’s making your belly bubble with heat. “it just looked like something you’d like.”
the sound you make upon your first bite has vivien clenching his fists, his smile straining. you tilt your head curiously at his silly expression, “everything alright?” you parrot him.
“just fine,” he clears his throat, shifting in his seat. “say, what is your relationship with julien?”
you blink at him, “what an unexpected question!”
regardless, you smile at the recollection of how you met him, “a few guys were talking to me at school and jules stepped in! he later told me they were being inappropriate, and that i should watch out more. i didn’t really think they were being inappropriate, but jules has always been smart. and i just kind of stuck to him since.”
vivien’s lack of an outward reaction has you looking around his face for one, but there’s nothing.
after a few beats of what was honestly one of the worst silences of your life, he finally speaks up.
“it’s a good thing you have me now,” he reaches out, grabbing your hand he held previously when you dragged him to this table. “it would be a shame if someone took advantage of a girl so sweet.”
instead of getting the girl, gojo just got her pregnant! how's he supposed to win you over when you only seem to see him as the baby daddy?
synopsis: when the frat president becomes the father of your daughter, the last thing you expected were his brothers to start bidding to be the step dad! can he prove that he's serious about starting a life together for the three of you - or will someone swoop in to steal both his girls?
pairing: frat!gojo x milf!reader x frat!geto (also starring frat!sukuna)
content: mdni!! fluff, angst, and smut, college au, unrealistic frat depictions, parties, drinking, accidental pregnancy, raising a baby, they all want to be the daddy, condoms breaking, one night stands and messy hookups, piv sex, pulling out, lots of pining, gojo being lovesick and stupid, denying feelings, jealousy, multiple povs, more tags will be found in individual chapters
based on this drabble
art cr: @zeilorene0 on x div cr: @/tsumiinum
chapter index
manchild ꕤ sugar talking ꕤ go go juice
taste ꕤ juno ꕤ don't smile
read your mind ꕤ already over ꕤ nonsense
COMMENT TO BE TAGGED!
series | latest oneshots | patreon
a/n: do i have like twenty other series to finish? yes. can i stop myself from starting new ones? no. apologies in advance :3 you guys just get what i have fun writing
yoichi isagi who can't control himself when he sees you cheering so lively for him in the crowd, your delicious thighs on full display for his hungry eyes due to the miniskirt you chose to wear for this match, it's like they're practically begging for him to hold and knead them, his brain malfunctioning for the rest of the whole damn game. he isn't thinking straight when he shoves his tongue down your throat as soon as the match ends, you just looked so pretty celebrating his goal, and the adorable way you were nearly jumping while running towards him, he couldn't resist it. his fingers waste no time before sneaking down your body and grabbing ahold of your flesh, his mind too clouded to care about the cameras.
but just grabbing won't be enough, he isn't satisfied – he needs more. the way home is the worst for him, to have you so close yet so distant, your skirt riding up your thighs and they look so inviting, but you won't let him go further than just resting his hand on them – it's so mean of you to deny him when he just won a match...!
as soon as you get home, he's pushing you against the nearest surface he can find and flipping up the tiny fabric to expose your panties, fingers hooking on their sides to pull them down your thighs, the pink, lacy fabric adorning your flesh so prettily, his forefinger going up and down your slit to gather your arousal on the tip of it, grazing your needy clit and earning a desperate gasp from you.
soon his middle and ring finger are plunging into your hole at an insane pace, the squelching sounds echoing through your whole apartment along with your loud moans, his wrist keeps bruising your ass as he reaches deep inside you, touching your sweet spot over and over and making your fluids gush all over his palm. he can feel the way your plush thighs lock around his hand, trembling due to the pleasure he's giving you and it makes him go feral, dick hard and tip leaking inside his pants and voice just a low groan when he speaks.
"s–sorry baby, couldn't help myself. you just look so hot in this skirt, makes me want to fuck you so bad... cum for me yeah? gonna look so pretty when you cum."
tags: he's just intelligent af and she's a jerk, fem reader, college setting, modern au, sukuna has his tattoos, he also has piercings, he's a little condescending shit, she's also very arrogant, she's the frat party rat, drug mention, laced drink, alcohol consumption, a little violence, no one is really sane but who's sane in college, sukuna is more pedantic than he normally is, colleagues to project partners to something else.
sum: you're paired up with Sukuna, the weird quiet sharp nerd of your lit class, for your midterm project, but you have so much to do... like the parties, the volleyball team, and all of the things that don't involve being buried in books and boring ass researches, so you're pretty sure the big lonesome nerd will take no issue in doing it all by himself, right? wrong.
art: @to00fu
[SYNOPSIS] — kaliana reyes has a reputation for being untouchable—beautiful, controlled, and always three steps ahead—but after a messy breakup, she makes one impulsive decision she doesn’t plan on repeating: getting involved with her brother’s best friend, ryomen sukuna. what starts as a quiet, no-strings arrangement between her and sukuna turns into something far messier, filled with jealousy, blurred lines, and a possessiveness neither of them is willing to admit out loud. in a world where everyone is watching and rumors spread fast, they keep it a secret, even as their actions grow harder to hide. because the problem isn’t that they’re breaking the rules, it’s that neither of them knows how to stop.
[TAGS] — 18+ . MDNI . explicit sexual themes . black oc . latina oc . social media . irl . nsfw . piv . friends with benefits . toxic frat . toxic relationship . angst . possessive sukuna . crazy bf x crazier gf . pet names . teasing . (semi??) public sex . oc is a film and fashion design double major . naoya is her ex 👀use of reclaimed slurs (n word) . spanglish. sukuna and kali are both on the track & field team. secret relationship. brother’s best friend. ooc sukuna (for the sake of plot). yuji + choso are his younger brothers.
more to be added !!!
UNITED STATES OF BLASIA | LAMBDA GAMMA PHI
CHAPTERS 1/??
chapter 1 : tbd
chapter 2 : tbd
chapter 3 : tbd
chapter 4 : tbd
chapter 5 : tbd
PLAYLIST
FA$HION
a/n :
i am so excited for this fic like i love smaus so bad.
and yes, i made kuna domi/japanese, if u don’t fw them y don’t have to read!!
this is my first fic on tumblr, so pls work with me cause this app mad confusing 😅✌️
instead of getting the girl, gojo just got her pregnant! how's he supposed to win you over when you only seem to see him as the baby daddy?
synopsis: when the frat president becomes the father of your daughter, the last thing you expected were his brothers to start bidding to be the step dad! can he prove that he's serious about starting a life together for the three of you - or will someone swoop in to steal both his girls?
pairing: frat!gojo x milf!reader x frat!geto (also starring frat!sukuna)
content: mdni!! fluff, angst, and smut, college au, unrealistic frat depictions, parties, drinking, accidental pregnancy, raising a baby, they all want to be the daddy, condoms breaking, one night stands and messy hookups, piv sex, pulling out, lots of pining, gojo being lovesick and stupid, denying feelings, jealousy, multiple povs, more tags will be found in individual chapters
based on this drabble
art cr: @zeilorene0 on x div cr: @/tsumiinum
chapter index
manchild ꕤ sugar talking ꕤ go go juice
taste ꕤ juno ꕤ don't smile
read your mind ꕤ already over ꕤ nonsense
COMMENT TO BE TAGGED!
series | latest oneshots | patreon
a/n: do i have like twenty other series to finish? yes. can i stop myself from starting new ones? no. apologies in advance :3 you guys just get what i have fun writing
the new ballet season is upcoming and you've been selected to play both the pure white swan and the lustful black swan. you were the perfect white swan. pristine, pure, perfect. but when your strict ballet instructor guides you down a tainted path to fulfill your dual role as the black swan— just how far are you willing to go to gain his approval? how deep are you willing to let him drag you into hell for the sake of perfection? and most of all: how desperate are you to keep his attention on only you?
♡ ₊˚‧ cw. ballet au :: angst :: smut :: toxic dynamics :: age gap ( 40s / 20s ) :: violence :: blood :: murder :: corruption :: purity fixation :: unhealthy beauty standards :: obsession :: manipulation :: jealousy :: f.masturbation :: semi-public sex :: fingering :: rough sex :: degradation :: choking :: sukuna is very touchy & creepy :: rival!yorozu :: inspired by 2010's black swan
♡ ₊˚‧ sweetheart. this series was commissioned by @delicatedahlias <3 thank you cutie!
pale visitor!sukuna x survivor!reader
'no, i'm not a human' AU
SYNOPSIS: Stay inside. Lock your doors. Close your blinds. Only let humans in and eliminate all visitors. When the apocalypse happened, the rules seemed simple- but as the nights tick by, you find yourself scrambling to survive. And every time you turn him away, you're left questioning how much you really know about yourself and this new world.
WARNINGS: dead dove- post-apocalyptic au, descriptions of death & violence, blood, guns, unreliable narrator, somewhat follows the gameplay/dialogue of no, i'm not a human, strong language, extreme guilt/shame, emotional conflict, emotional manipulation, depression, anxiety & paranoia, strangers/enemies to lovers, eventual smut -> dub-con, true-form sukuna; more tags to be added
A/N: art creds @/decay_int on insta & x, other images from NINAH gameplay.
pale visitor!sukuna x survivor!reader
'no, i'm not a human' AU
☣︎ part 1
SYNOPSIS: Stay inside. Lock your doors. Close your blinds. Only let humans in and eliminate all visitors. When the apocalypse happened, the rules seemed simple- but as the nights tick by, you find yourself scrambling to survive. And every time you turn him away, you're left questioning how much you really know about yourself and this new world.
WARNINGS: dead dove- post-apocalyptic au, descriptions of death & violence, blood, guns, unreliable narrator, somewhat follows the gameplay/dialogue of no, i'm not a human, strong language, extreme guilt/shame, emotional conflict, emotional manipulation, depression, anxiety & paranoia, strangers/enemies to lovers, eventual smut -> dub-con, true-form sukuna; more tags to be added
A/N: art creds @/decay_int on insta & x, other images from NINAH gameplay.
You hardly believed it when your neighbor came by, rambling on about how "something was coming."
He couldn't provide many more details than that, just eerie warnings about the sun exploding and 'visitors' crawling up and out of the ground. You dismissed it as the paranoid delusions of a survivalist who'd done nothing but think about the apocalypse for years. You always thought he was a bit odd, but as far as neighbors go, he was far from the worst.
So you listened. You let him go on and on about his theories and everything he'd heard from his friends, his cousins, anyone he could get to talk to him about it. You nodded along, gave an "ooh" and an "aah" every couple of lines to show that you were paying attention.
He offered advice that you thought you'd never seriously need, but he insisted you internalize it. Advice on how to survive in whatever would become of the world, how to keep yourself not just alive but human, in a time when those around you might be anything but.
TV and radio are good for the news— but neither is better than the information you can collect with your own two eyes. Stock up on food and keep important phone numbers on hand. Rest when you can because preserving energy is crucial, and you never know when you'll find yourself needing it. Lastly, it's good to be skeptical, but be careful toeing the line between skepticism and paranoia. Your neighbor urged, implored even, that you don't let yourself succumb to your inevitable spiraling thoughts.
It may feel like isolating yourself is the best move. After all, most think that you won't get harmed, betrayed, killed, if you're alone. But having company may just be the one thing that saves you.
When you crawled into bed after his visit, you laughed to yourself about how serious he was, about how improbable an apocalypse was. You were tucked under the covers, blissfully unaware that it was both the last time you'd get a full night's rest and the last time that you'd see the sun.
But you had to hand it to your neighbor— he knew his shit. He didn't let anyone's judgment or mockery sway him, and when you turned on the news the next morning, you felt a whole lot more grateful to know him.
He was right about everything.
Reporters on every channel were covering the same story. News outlets not just in your city, state, country, but all around the whole world, were providing everyone with the same information.
Scientists recorded a massive solar flare, larger than anything that could have been predicted, and the cause was unknown. But as a result, it was no longer possible to go outside during the day. Global temperatures reaching a record high and still rising, they advised everyone to not only stay indoors during the day, but to keep the curtains shut, or even better, board up their windows.
Because the sun and the heat weren't the only things that were threatening to creep into your home. Reports of human-like creatures crawling out from the dirt spread like wildfire.
It was a little unbelievable just how accurate your neighbor had been with his intel, but you hardly had room to complain. You were able to keep your panic at bay knowing that you were at least somewhat mentally prepared for all of this.
You moved quickly, using whatever you could to cover the windows and barricade the doors until your house was shrouded in darkness, eerily silent. You'd repeat your neighbor's words in your mind, over and over, they served as a distraction when you felt the claws of anxiety starting to dig into you.
You clung tight to the counsel he offered you before everything went to shit, treating his word as gospel. Well, most of it.
You were still alone.
The first few days, your mind was only able to focus on the present, taking things one step at a time lest you collapse into a depression. You'd lost the daylight, the inexplicable catastrophe creating a world where you had to hide inside while the sun shone, careful not to catch a glimpse past your curtains.
It was difficult, your daily routine not just being flipped upside down, but disintegrating completely. You wandered aimlessly up and down your hall, fighting the urge to look out the windows during the day.
No one alive really knew what it was like outside from the hours of 7:00 am to 7:00 pm. Anyone foolish enough to chance a look, or worse yet, leave their house, was left with their eyes scarred and blind, their beings reduced to ash. You could only speculate that they were met with a blazing white heat, too bright for our sensitive human eyes, too hot for our soft flesh.
So you resisted the urge and just plopped yourself down on the couch instead, letting your thoughts run wild. You thought about how in just a day, Earth was flipped on its axis.
Around the world, lives were taken, and if not, they were left in ruins. Money no longer meant anything, nor did the previously commonplace rules of society.
You thought about the stories of families turning on one another, with shoddy alliances being formed instead. Relationships were held together by mere necessity, and once someone outlived their usefulness, you couldn't predict what would become of them.
But you also thought about how, in a way, you were lucky.
You lived alone in the countryside, just outside the city, which meant that when things were in chaos miles away, it remained relatively quiet for you. You had time to prepare. Barricading the doors and windows, ensuring your backup generator was working properly, and stocking up on food and water.
Others were left scrambling, trying to create a place for themselves in this new era even though the last one was already much too crowded for them. You heard it all on the news— bodies turning up at alarming rates, friends attacking one another out of desperation, suspicion, individuals finding themselves homeless after their apartments became a cesspool of bloodshed.
And you knew they weren't exaggerating. Not when you started getting knocks on your door in the middle of the night— the only time that humans and those alike could move freely anymore.
You were too scared at first to let them in. Keeping the door blocked and shouting through the worn wood that they ought to move on to the next house if they knew what was best for them.
But your neighbors words would ring out through your mind each time you turned someone away. You couldn't completely ignore the urgency in his voice when he told you not to stay home alone.
You were never one who particularly enjoyed keeping company, and you much less enjoyed it during the apocalypse when everyone seemed to be losing their senses. Not to mention the fact that any one of them could be a visitor, and it would be up to you to figure out who. So days went by and you remained by yourself, your house empty and quiet.
It was foolish to think that you'd be able to ride out this catastrophe all on your own.
You see that now.
This morning, you'd woken up and crawled out of bed like every other time, getting ready to survive another pointless night. Sometimes, you found yourself wondering why you kept trying so hard, why you felt a life like this was even worth it.
But truthfully, you just hope that things will get better. You know the government is still active, some jobs are still being done. So, you hold out hope that eventually society will rebuild itself at some point during your lifetime.
You'd trudged down the hallway as you always did, towards the kitchen for breakfast— if it could even be called that at 8:00 pm. You'd checked the windows, a new habit, pulling the curtains aside to peer out through the dusty glass with your own two eyes.
Your fingers gripped the moth-eaten fabric, tugging gently to expose the view to your tired eyes. You expected the same scene as always. The drooping, scorched skeleton of what was once a fruitful wheat field and a beaten-down path leading off towards the city.
Much like your home, the scene was always empty, always quiet.
The view outside your house causes you to still, your body rigid and muscles tense while you let out a shaky breath. Silently, you urge yourself to shut the curtains and replace the wooden planks you'd just taken off the other day, to push the couch across the front door again. You tell yourself to just move.
But you can't. Frozen, you remain glued to your spot, eyes locked on the figure standing just a few meters from your window.
He's tall, unnaturally so, and broad. He's clearly strong in a way that makes you question whether wooden planks would even be sufficient protection should he wish to enter your home.
Intricate black tattoos decorate his pale skin. But those aren't even the most eye-catching things about him. You can see them from where you stand— the deformities. Four muscular arms protrude from his torso and there's a hardened mask that covers half of his face. His skin rippling oddly, like it doesn't fit him properly, you can see that little about him is human.
From where you are, you can tell he's staring right at you. The weight of his gaze sends shivers running down your spine, bringing goosebumps to your skin because you can feel it boring into you.
You no longer want to be alone.
With trembling hands you draw the curtain shut and turn until your back is against the wall, legs buckling as you slide down to the floor.
Knees pulled into your chest, your forehead rests upon them, your back rising and falling rapidly with each too-small breath that you take. Not enough air is filling your lungs as an overwhelming feeling of dread courses through your veins, being pumped to each and every part of your body and leaving your chest tight.
You don't want to check if he's still there. You think you know the answer anyways.
You're not sure how much time passes while you're there, sitting on the dusty hardwood with your face tucked away. But you don't move until the trembling subsides, until there's oxygen flowing into your lungs once more and you can finally think straight.
Only then do you rise to your feet, smoothing down your pants as you take one more steadying breath. Because hiding away and panicking on the floor will do nothing to help you, that much you're sure of.
It's unclear what exactly he wants. He's obviously different from the visitors that have been mentioned on the news which were described as creatures that looked and acted just like humans.
The most rational assumption is that he wants to kill you, of course, but then you're not sure why he didn't. Instead he just stood there, waiting and watching without moving a limb.
Ultimately, you suppose it doesn't matter. For whatever reason, he's still outside and you're still inside— alive. And you know now that it's time to follow that last piece of advice that you've been ignoring.
As if on cue, the knocking comes.
Three short raps on the door. Once irritating, the sound now comes with a wave of relief as you move to look through the peep hole.
You let them in that night, two of the three people who found themselves on your front porch. You talked to them as much as you could through the door, tried to vet them as visitors and see if their stories were suspicious or inconsistent— but there was only so much you could do without first letting them in.
Tomorrow, you'd have to test them for signs of being a visitor. There was information on the TV about some things you can do to check if someone's a visitor, but to be honest, you were skeptical about them.
On the first report, they had talked about 'perfect white teeth' being a sign, but their theory had only been corroborated by one story before they were broadcasting it all over the news. You're no scientist, but the confidence with which they were spreading this information had you very skeptical.
Not to mention, what if someone had just been to the dentist? What if they had really white veneers? Or used a lot of whitening strips before the whole world fell apart?
The other signs weren't solid either.
Red eyes? They claimed that visitors were more sensitive to the sunlight, which may be true, but aren't humans sensitive enough? And as if everyone hasn't been crying, wired off energy drinks, or high out of their minds lately.
Dirt under the fingernails? That was supposed to tell you if they'd recently climbed up out of the ground, and you couldn't help but roll your eyes and scoff at the TV when they said that. If a visitor crawled out of the ground, then all they'd have to do to cover their tracks was find a working sink and get to scrubbing. Also, it's the apocalypse. Chances are pretty fucking high that there's regular humans out there that haven't been able to keep up with their hygiene and have dirty hands because of it.
You sigh, a hand coming to pinch the bridge of your nose in an attempt to ease the throbbing between your eyes. Aside from the death and destruction that only seemed to worsen with each passing day, you were starting to find the most stressful thing about this whole catastrophe to be the uncertainty.
Each day it felt like you had more information forced down your throat, and with each addition you were left feeling like you knew less than before. Everything was said with utter conviction, despite the fact that it never made that much sense— sometimes completely contradicting something you'd heard another day.
It's exhausting, feeling like you're stuck in limbo, trapped in some middle ground where you're fighting to find any sort of footing.
And the worst of it was FEMA. The new Federal Emergency Management Agency.
They're the ones peddling all these theories about visitors, always urging viewers to "help their cause," though you have a feeling they don't even know what that cause is.
They talk about how they're conducting research on visitors. And despite the fact that they go door to door abducting people from homes to "experiment," you feel like they've collected no concrete evidence. But of course, they act like they have.
They claim they're eliminating visitors, using those "signs" to identify them— as if those really mean anything— when you know the truth. You heard it from your neighbor, the way FEMA has started rounding up whoever they can, dragging them out to the country and just shooting. Unloading clip after clip into the crowd until everyone's laid out on the ground, lifeless or almost there, their bodies resting until the sun takes what's left of them.
That doesn't quite seem like something one would do if they had a way to pick out the imposters.
This whole epidemic shows no signs of stopping, and quite frankly you'd rather that they just be honest about the gravity of the situation. Instead, they're still pretending that they have shit under control when it's clear that they don't.
The pounding in your head only gets worse with each uncontrollable thought. Still, you hope you're at least able to get a couple hours of sleep before the sun rises as you climb into bed, ready for a night of tossing and turning.
At least your guests were quiet. Without the energy to test them tonight, you let them take up residence in different rooms in the house before locking yourself in your bedroom— you can only hope everyone is still alive when you wake up in the morning.
The house stands still, you can hear the wind whistling outside, an owl somewhere in the distance.
And the next morning, you receive the first piece of information since the cataclysm that feels certain. The bug-eyed reporter's confirmation of a gut feeling that you haven't been able to shake since you let the curtain fall last night.
"…if you see this man, do not open your door. Do not tell him that you are alone."
He's there, on the TV screen.
The man they're calling the "pale maniac." A shoddy police sketch version of him, sure, but it's all there. The piercing stare, disfigured face and ornate tattoos, more limbs than what's normal— a graphite representation of eye witness testimonies.
Sukuna:
It's all a giant, steaming pile of bullshit. That was Sukuna's first thought when he saw the news report alleging that there was a solar flare and people were crawling out from the ground.
That's what news reporters did, they hyped up things to be more exciting than they really were, because otherwise no one would care to watch. So surely, this whole fiasco was being blown out of proportion. He was certain that he'd go to sleep, wake up the next day and see people still able to go about their daily lives.
He's never been more wrong in his life.
Sukuna doesn't even make it until the morning, woken up in the middle of the night by the screaming. A raucous, piercing sound spilling through his too-thin walls from the apartment beside him. Curious as he is, he doesn't move, doesn't make for the door to see what's going on or if everyone's alright.
Would another person check in on their neighbors if they heard what he did? Probably. But Sukuna isn't that kind of person.
He's never been the neighborly type. He keeps to his own— goes to work, the gym, back home, repeat. In all honesty, Sukuna thinks if he shows up next door, whoever is there might end up even more scared. He knows he doesn't have the most approachable appearance, and judging by the old types he's seen around the building, they'd probably shit their pants if someone like him just popped up in their doorway.
So he stays put. With his eyes shut and ears straining, he's able to pick up on a few words here and there underneath all the shouting.
…dead now…
…had to…
…visitor…
His brain is working overdrive to piece together the rest of the puzzle— though his gut is already telling him the situation.
Either the news is true and there was one of these "visitors" next door, or these reports have gotten everyone jumpy and paranoid, leading to an accidental death.
Sukuna wonders if this has happened anywhere else. Surely, it has. And considering that it's been less than 12 hours since the first report aired, he can only imagine how much worse things are going to get if this situation doesn't slow down.
He supposes that even if the news are exaggerating, it might still be best to lock himself inside his apartment for a while. Slinking to the kitchen, Sukuna opens the fridge and pantry to take stock of his food situation— he can afford to stay home for a few days at least, before he'll have to get some more groceries.
Perhaps by then things will have settled down.
Sukuna tries to reason with himself, tries to get the rest of his body to believe his brain when it says that everything is going to be fine. But the muffled sobbing that's replaced the screaming, coupled with the ringing in his ears and the shaking in his hands betray him.
They betray the fact that, ultimately, he can't ignore the feeling that this is just the beginning.
Sukuna doesn't sleep the rest of the night. Just sits alone in his apartment with the lights low, the TV playing in the background with endless news reports on the global crisis. He's tried to call people— Choso, Yuuji, Toji, even Satoru— but he hasn't heard back from anyone.
Before too long he's ripped from his worrying thoughts by incessant knocking on his door.
He tries to ignore it, thinking that whoever it is might just go away. But when it becomes clear that they plan on sticking around until he answers, Sukuna sighs, stretching as he stands before making his way to the front and peering through the peep hole.
It's an elderly couple, their eyes darting around, huddled close to one another.
"The fuck you guys want?" Sukuna barks through the door, trying to ignore the slight pang in his chest when he sees the woman flinch at his harsh tone. But a slight pang is all it is.
Maybe he should feel worse, be a little more compassionate— but he's having a hard time finding it in himself to care about that right now. With all the shit he's seen on the news as the night trudged on and the chaos he can hear from the streets below his window, Sukuna's certain that it can't hurt to be a bit more jaded.
Plus, he's seen enough zombie movies to know how things end when you're too trusting during the apocalypse, and this is starting to feel like an apocalypse.
Satoru was always pushing those films on them. Sukuna remembers the way his eyes would light up at any mention of zombies or anything of the sort, always looking for an excuse to talk about his hyper-fixation. The white-haired man had some sort of affinity toward the topic. Not exactly in the way that preppers did— Sukuna was almost certain that Satoru had no real plans for how to deal with a disaster like this— he just loved to talk about different theories he had, usually theories that he came up with after watching another movie.
Sukuna wonders where Satoru is right now. Thoughts drifting from the couple on the other side of the door as he holds his phone out once more, a frown tugging at his lips at the sight of the empty screen. He's sent so many texts already, to the whole group. Some delivered, some didn't. Though he supposes that just because a text was delivered, that doesn't mean someone will actually see it.
"Please sir, we've got no where else to go." The old woman's voice is small through the door, weariness laced in her tone as she pleads with Sukuna one last time. "We'll only stay a couple days, then we'll be out of your hair. We're just tired and need a place to sleep."
He has to say no. Or he thinks he does. Too scared to say yes but even more scared to admit to himself that he really doesn't know what to do. Stuck in a world he hadn't believed possible and faced with dilemmas he'd only heard of in fiction, the current situation is leaving his mind racing and his back sweating.
And even with all the unexpected circumstances, still, the least predictable thing must be how much he wishes he could talk to Satoru. Now that, was something Sukuna never thought he'd experience.
But he seriously can't help but wonder, when he's left feeling conflicted and lost, if that stupid friend of his might have some sort of guidance to offer— probably baseless guidance, pulled from old movies with bad acting— but guidance nonetheless.
Instead, Sukuna is left with nothing but his own judgment when he makes the decision to turn his visitors away.
And as the hours tick by, they trickle into days spent locked away inside his apartment. Thankfully, delivery services are still running— if Sukuna had to go to the grocery store at a time like this to get food he'd probably just starve to death.
The elderly couple never completely left his mind. Sukuna still found himself thinking about them when the news ended and his apartment was drowning in silence. The lights low and the air chilled, he sits on his couch nursing a drink— one of the only good things left— and recalling their faces as he turned them away.
With a light shake of his head and another swig of the amber liquor in his glass, Sukuna pushes the memory from his mind. No use dwelling on what's been done.
Sukuna rummages through his pocket for his phone. The notifications are empty. He was half looking for any missed texts, and half looking to track his delivery order, an old habit he hasn't been able to shake.
There's no delivery tracking anymore. Such a simple thing that you don't realize you'll miss until it's gone. Sukuna had to call the delivery service directly and tell them what he wanted, and they just replied with a an estimate of when someone might come by and hung up the phone.
It leaves Sukuna feeling antsy, his leg bouncing with repressed energy as he waits for his food to arrive with no knowledge of how long that'll even take.
So when that knock finally comes, he's acting on impulse. Nearly jumping to his feet and heading straight for the door, Sukuna only reins himself in at the last second to quickly look through the peephole— an action that's become commonplace, necessary even.
He's expecting some weary delivery man on the other side, standing on his odl welcome mat with a large bag on his back and an order in his hand. But there's no face. No tired eyes and dark circles, just the yellow plastic and rubber of a hazmat suit.
Shit.
Sukuna knows what this means. He knows who is at his door. Even though he hasn't left the house since the solar flare, he's watched TV and listened to the radio. He's heard the whispers from down the hall and the conversations through his bedroom wall.
FEMA.
At first, he tries to ignore them. Stupidly pretending that no one's home even though everyone is home right now. The only people that aren't are those that are dead or had to relocate— and after the fifth knock something tells Sukuna that FEMA knows exactly who is where.
Relenting, he reaches for the doorknob. Fingers wrapping around the cool metal as he cracks the door open an inch and peeks his head out.
"Good evening, I'm from FEMA." The man's voice is low and muffled through the suit, but its commanding nature shines through. "We're making our rounds in this neighborhood, there's been a mandatory evacuation notice."
Sukuna's brows knit together, confusion morphing into his features. Since when was there an evacuation notice? "I never heard anything about that."
"Don't worry. It's for a routine assessment, but you'll be informed when you're able to return to your residence in the future."
There's hesitation in Sukuna's reply, born from the vagueness in the masked man's reply. "What assessment? Never heard shit about that either."
"That's really none of your business," the agent snaps. His tone curt and irritated, a sense of unease begins to settle within Sukuna, a feeling that only grows stronger with the longer he looks at the man at his door. Hidden from view by his uniform, there's really nothing that gives any indication of who he really is. "Just pack what you need and come with me."
Sukuna inhales deeply, trying to undo the knot forming in his chest. "Is everyone evacuating?"
There's never an answer to that question, the FEMA agent choosing to instead respond by barking at Sukuna to go pack a bag and prepare to evacuate, lest he continue to impede their work.
Sukuna moves swiftly through his apartment. Phone, phone charger, t-shirt, food, boxers, toothbrush. He grabs whatever he can fit into his backpack before finally heading back to the front door.
The FEMA agent still awaits him in the doorway, stoic and silent before turning, wordlessly commanding Sukuna to follow.
It's surreal— the entire situation.
Packing whatever he can of his life into a single bag before leaving his home with no one but a mysterious man whose face he hasn't even seen.
The only reassurance comes when Sukuna makes it to the street outside his building and sees some of his neighbors there too. They seem to be in a similar state as him. A little frazzled, but primarily worried as they clutch a fraction of their belongings and look to one another for guidance.
They shuffle in place, sweat beading on their foreheads from the heat despite the sun long having set. They wait for instructions from the hazmat suits and Sukuna stands in silence, his mind racing with endless questions as he glances at his phone once more.
He's not expecting to see anything new, but his lasts texts delivered at least.
And it's not much at all but it's something. It's a sign that at least his friends' phones are still on, still connected to a cell tower somewhere that's providing enough data to at least receive a message. Now he just has to hope and pray that he gets a response.
Shoving the phone back into his pocket, Sukuna looks up once more at the crowd around him. His neighbors, their friends and family, they surround one another with chatter, conspiracies and questions sprouting from their conversations and Sukuna can't help but eavesdrop, his own unspoken questions starting to rise.
"I heard they're relocating us to another neighborhood."
What's wrong with ours?
"Yeah, there's another building across town that has space for us."
Where did that space suddenly come from?
"I heard they're building houses in the country for the city folk to stay in."
And how the hell would they get a bunch of houses built so quickly in a time like this?
"No, that's not it— they said people have been staying in houses in the country because of all the chaos in this cities."
Now that is plausible. Intuition tugging at the corner of his mind, Sukuna can't help but feel like that piece of information will become useful eventually, his thoughts drifting back to his friends.
It's not like the countryside has ever been known for having lightning fast cell service.
He's brought back down to reality when the constant buzz around him dies down. Words that were on their way out are sucked back in and saved for another time, another conversation, when the men wearing yellow approach the crowd.
If Sukuna's ears could perk up, they would right now. Straining to focus on the muffled voice coming from in front of him as he awaits what are sure to be instructions on where to go—
"The sun will be rising in roughly six hours. To improve your chances of finding a place to shelter during the day, we suggest you disperse now."
That's it?
The uproar is immediate. Every individual, man and woman, old and young alike erupt into shouting— and rightfully so. These agents went door to door, telling residents that they had to leave behind everything they owned, everything they knew, at the drop of a hat, and they had no plan for what to do afterwards?
No shelter set aside for the evicted. No food, no water, no transportation.
Not even a measly suggestion of where to start looking.
These guys were fucking ridiculous.
And as fucked up as it all was, the most fucked up part was the fact that there was no use even arguing at this point. Any time and breath spent yelling at those responsible would be wasted when it could be used to begin searching for a place to stay— and those who didn't find one would become nothing more than melted flesh and scorched bones atop a bed of dirt.
With that, Sukuna turns his back on the individuals he shared a residence with for the last couple years of his life, and he retreats. His stomach flipping with unease, his gaze rests upon the expanse of land that stretches out before him and he reminds himself that he has no other option.
Hours that feel like days trudge by, slower than the dragging of Sukuna's feet along the unpaved road he's been following aimlessly. He has yet to find a house, an shed, a trailer, that's willing to take him in.
His tongue sits heavy and dry in his mouth, leaving a sour taste as he pants softly, the exertion beginning to catch up to him. He can't even imagine what this would be like for the others.
He's always been on top of his physique, eating healthy, working out regularly. And he knows that not everyone shares the same level of discipline as him— not everyone can. Like people with disabilities, people that are sick, or maybe too busy, or just too old.
Sukuna's mind wanders to the elderly couple that had stopped by his door. Shaking his head, he tries to push the image of their faces from his mind, swallowing thickly.
His throat is scratchy from inhaling the dry dust around him.
It was never this dry where he lived but he supposes this is what happens when the earth practically gets air fried. Water sources start to dry, moisture gets sucked out of the ground and leaves the air stale and the land a desert. Humanity is living in a place that's quickly becoming incapable of sustaining the life it once did.
Fuck, this is depressing.
Sukuna's pulled from his thoughts when he see the tell-tale glimmer of a porch light in the distance, just barely blocked by some trees at the entrance of a sparse forest.
His destination.
Turning on autopilot, he re-routes his path to head toward the home, silently praying for entry. It's worn down, the paint peeling off the walls and the windows dirty as he approaches the house. Wooden planks creak beneath his heavy feet, tired with age, they fight to support his weight as he raises a fist to the door and knocks.
Once. Twice. Three times and then he waits.
There's some shuffling just behind the door before a gruff voice calls out, "what do ya want?" His accent is thick, southern, and his tone is skeptical. There isn't a peep hole on the door but one look to the side and Sukuna sees a curtain fluttering closed.
"Just tryin' to find a place to sleep," Sukuna replies, voice loud in an effort to be heard clearly through the barrier. "Sun's gonna be up soon."
"I know that, boy. You ain't gonna find what you're lookin' for here."
Sukuna tries to put on his best face, whatever that might be, before he responds. "There's no room for me in there?" He knows he's not the most conventional looking man. Riddled with tattoos and piercings, pink hair, not to mention his size. He got used to the stares a long time ago— but he knows some people never got used to him.
Usually older folk, those who have more traditional views on what a man his age ought to look like.
When he'd seen there was no peep hole on the door he was relieved. But that relief was quickly swept away when Sukuna realized that the owner of the home had been eyeing him already through a window near the entrance.
He sighs, long and tired as a hand comes to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Look, I've been walkin' for hours and I just need a place to hole up for a day. I'll leave right after, I swear."
And he really means it. Sure, it would be a pain in the ass to set out on foot once more to find another place to stay, but he also wasn't going to force anyone to let him hang around where he wasn't wanted. So, one day— that's all he's asking for.
But even that he can't get. The old man in the home is firm on his decision, his voice unwavering each time that he tells Sukuna to get off his porch. Until finally, he stopped replying and Sukuna got nothing but silence from him. The man had ceased to continue even listening to Sukuna as he pleaded for shelter.
With the disappointment comes exhaustion. Sukuna's last ounce of hope begins to die out, leaving him all too aware of the way his body aches. His skin is sticky with sweat and dusted in a layer of dirt, his muscles straining and joints stiff as he starts walking again. Step after step, he drags himself forward despite having no real direction.
He's going to die out here.
That's the one thought he can't escape now. The gravity of his situation hits him like a semi-truck as he sees the color of the sky changing. No longer a deep black speckled with white, he can see it morphing, lightening as a deep blue hue begins to creep in.
He's going to die out here and fuck, it's going to hurt.
Being burned alive is quite possibly the last way he thought he'd go out.
With a sharp exhale and a groan, Sukuna decides he's done walking. It's getting hotter, his feet are throbbing in his sneakers, and he simply cannot find it in himself to keep going as dawn draws nearer.
Shrugging off his backpack he lets it fall to the ground with a thud before slinking down and settling under a tree. Obviously he's not expecting the shade to do much, but it's nice to have a place to rest, his head falling back against the trunk.
Crimson eyes drift along the horizon as they search for the East. That one spot where the blue above him will soon begin to be replaced with violet and tinges of orange and pink.
It's odd, how he seems to have skipped the 'panic' phase that he always assumed people go through when they realize they've met their end. Instead, he's only been met with an initial wave of dread, and then disappointment.
Disappointment that he will die under a scraggly tree in the middle of nowhere, all alone during the god damn apocalypse. He's not even getting killed by a zombie, 'visitor', whatever.
Talk about lame.
Chest rising and falling deeply, Sukuna's breathing slows with acceptance as his eyes flutter shut. Things really come full circle— he supposes this is his karma. In another universe, perhaps he would have opened his door, welcomed those in need into his home with open arms, and maybe that would have saved him.
Snap!
Sukuna's eyes fly open. They scan the scene around him, rolling slowly over the landscape as a bead of sweat trickles down his temple.
He can feel it.
A presence he hadn't even noticed before. Now overwhelming, Sukuna is pinned in place by the mere awareness of his proximity to whatever is there. The energy radiating from It burns into his side, leaving his hair standing on end, goosebumps littering his skin.
Where did it come from?
How had he not sensed it earlier?
The air is barely reaching his lungs as Sukuna twists his neck, head slowly turning to the side, finally moving to look at what he knows is right beside him. And nothing he has seen before, nothing he could even imagine, comes close to what awaited his gaze.
With no face, no legs, It drags itself forward on two arms.
It's body is pitch black, lacking any definition that comes from shadows and highlights, and yet there is more to It. The essence of what lies beside Sukuna is something to be understood, rather than to be seen— and now Sukuna is much less certain that the sun will be what causes his demise.
His legs are made of lead as he tries to stand or simply back away. A wave of nausea courses through his stomach as he feels the bile rising in his throat which he fights to swallow back down— he's already dehydrated enough.
A silly thing to care about in this moment, but his thoughts are scrambled. He's unable to focus his thoughts as his body finally registers the panic that it seemed to bypass earlier, and all that is rational becomes secondary.
A limb reaches forward, outstretched in Sukuna's direction before landing roughly on the ground a few feet away. Digging into the dirt, the creature pulls itself forward, inch by inch. The putrid smell of burnt flesh fills Sukuna's nose, causing him to gag. He's smelled it before, when he stupidly opened his window on one of the first nights after the cataclysm.
It's a scent he'd never forget.
Sukuna opens his mouth to make a sound, maybe to scream, to cry for help or beg for whatever is approaching him to turn around. But when the hot air hits the back of his throat, any words die in the dry heat as nothing but a small cry escapes him.
Each expansion of his chest is too shallow and his heart is beating too fast as he finally scrambles backwards. Shuffling in the dirt and kicking up dust as he fruitlessly tries to get away.
Thinking back, he's certain he's never felt this way before.
Memory after memory plays in Sukuna's mind, only reminding him that he's lived a comfortable life, one where he's always been bigger than most people, stronger. He'd walk alone at night and sleep with the door unlocked sometimes. He'd watch horror movies alone in the dark and not once would his heart rate increase in the slightest.
And here he is— probably about to have a fucking heart attack with the way the poor organ is hammering in his chest.
An incessant ringing in his ears makes him clutch his head in his hands, eyes squeezing shut and even with them closed he can see It. In his mind the image is clearer, something he can't escape even if he were to claw his own eyes out, and with each passing second he fears he might.
The longer that Sukuna is stuck in this being's presence, the more he finds himself praying for death to visit him.
His hands feel numb, tingling slightly as the oxygen in his body is cut off from them, rerouted to more important parts of his body— the ones fighting pointlessly to help him survive.
Tears that were forming in his waterline begin to fall, little streaks appearing in the layer of dirt on his skin. Then, Sukuna's blurry vision speckles, a grainy film settling over the scene before him as black begins to seep in from the corners of his periphery.
Has It already started to kill him?
Or is this an effect of the sun beginning to rise?
Maybe his body has started to shut down from the rising temperature. Is this what a heat stroke is like?
It's difficult to think.
Each thought dissipates as quickly as it forms because Sukuna can't focus on anything but the shuddering in his chest as he struggles to take in another breath.
He can feel the water on his cheeks and taste the salt on his cracked lips but his vision is black when he slumps forward. With his head between his knees, Sukuna collapses to the side, a cloud of dust kicking up around his limp body.
likes, comments, reblogs always appreciated ! i have more works here ♡
A/N: yay finally starting this series :p again ty for the patience on this! i really don't want to rush it, and i might even end up writing 5 parts instead of 4. anyways i hope yall enjoyed, would love to hear your thoughts (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)
the soft knock at your apartment door came right on time, but you were still scrambling to fasten the straps of your heels.
"one second!" you called, hurrying to the door and yanking it open. standing there was chigiri, looking lethal in a sleek black suit that made his crimson hair pop.
"you're late," he teased, his lips curving into a laugh.
"you're early," you countered, stepping aside to let him in.
he took a seat on your couch, watching as you grabbed your earrings and clutch. "you ready to surprise suki? she's been posting nonstop about tonight. i think she might cry."
you grinned at the thought. mitsuki was the star of the evening and she believed you were thousands of miles away on a job. "she’s going to kill us for lying, but it’ll be worth it."
the drive to the venue was a blur of excited chatter. when you arrived, the energy was electric. paparazzi flashes strobed against the grand theater, and fans were screaming for the cast of star girl.
"she just got here," chigiri said, nodding toward the entrance.
you spotted mitsuki immediately. she was posing alongside her co-star, michael kaiser, looking every bit the movie star in her shimmering gown. she looked radiant, though you could see the slight tension in her shoulders.
"she has no idea," you whispered.
"let's keep it that wa–"
before chigiri could finish, several cameras swung toward you. "y/n! hyoma!" someone yelled. you stiffened, but chigiri leaned in, his voice a steady anchor. "smile and wave. don't give anything away."
following his lead, you offered a small smile and a quick wave, keeping your pace steady. the paparazzi seemed content with a few pictures before redirecting their attention back to the main event.
as you stepped inside the venue, you exhaled quietly.
"well," chigiri said with a small laugh, "so much for sneaking in unnoticed."
once inside, the lobby was packed with the industry's elite. you waited until mitsuki stepped in, looking around with her phone clutched tight. you stepped forward, voice innocent. "hey, are you looking for someone?"
mitsuki froze. her head snapped toward you, her mouth falling open. "y/n?" she shrieked, her voice cutting through the crowd's hum.
"surprise!"
she launched herself at you, nearly knocking you over. "you liar! you said you couldn't come!"
chigiri chuckled, joining the group hug. "as if we’d miss your big night, suki."
she let out a choked laugh and pulled him into the hug as well, her arms wrapping tightly around the both of you. "i hate you," she exclaimed.
"no, you don't," you teased, your own voice light with laughter.
"i really do," mitsuki shot back, though her wide grin betrayed her words. when she finally pulled back, her eyes glimmered with happiness as she looked between both of you. "you two are the worst, and the best."
chigiri shrugged, "what can we say? models aim to please."
"you aim to stress me out, apparently," she retorted, but the affection in her tone was undeniable.
"c'mon," you said, looping your arm through hers. "we're here to celebrate you."
with a quick nod, mitsuki took a deep breath and let herself be led toward the red carpet, where the buzz of cameras and chatter awaited her. chigiri fell in step beside her, and the three of you moved forward, ready to make her night one to remember.
the screening was magical and the pride you felt seeing her on that screen was overwhelming. but the real shift happened at the after-party. amidst the champagne and laughter with mitsuki, chigiri, and kunigami, you felt it. that familiar, cool weight of a specific gaze.
you turned. sae itoshi was standing near the edge of the room, looking devastating in a tailored suit. without a word, he began moving toward you, weaving through the crowd with an air of absolute purpose.
"sae," you started, but he didn't wait.
he took your wrist – his touch firm, warm, and possessive. "come with me," he said.
mitsuki raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk on her face as she waved you off. sae didn't stop until you were outside in the cool night air. the city hummed around you, but all you could focus on was the man standing in front of you.
"you couldn't wait for the end of the party?" you asked, your tone playful but curious.
sae shot you a smirk, hands sliding into his pockets. "i thought we were supposed to talk. about our little arrangement."
you leaned against the cool brick of the building, crossing your arms. "right. the fake relationship. great timing, sae."
his expression softened, a glint of amusement in his teal eyes. "i know it's dramatic, but we both gain from this. the press gets a story they love and we get the privacy we actually want."
you let out a long sigh. it wasn't ideal, but the idea of playing this game with sae was intriguing. your heart raced every time he looked at you, like a jolt of electricity that was becoming harder to ignore.
"fine," you said, reluctant acceptance coloring your voice. "we'll do it. fake relationship. no emotions involved. easy, right?"
sae’s grin widened, the tension in his frame finally easing. "good," he said, his voice dropping into that smooth, low register that made your skin tingle. "i need your help."
your brow furrowed, suspicion instantly kicking in. "what kind of help?"
overview: an unlikely friendship forms after sukuna lets you copy his answers on the first day of university. now, four years later, you won't leave him alone and while he may act like you're insufferable, he wouldn't have it any other way.
contains: fluff, some crack, profanities, malapropism, rugby player!sukuna, physics, fraternity antics, parties, alcohol and drugs, uncle sukuna and baby yujiiii, kind of grumpy x sunshine, eventual smut(?)
status: ongoing
1. wednesday and worksheets
2. texts and lunches
3. jerseys and malapropisms
4. banishment and babysitting
5. play dates and perturbance
6. new posts and strange feelings
7. flying fists and flirtations
8. workloads and teething
9. car wash and the park
10. twins and tension
11. five men and a baby
12. skiing and snowballs
13. ghosts and constants
note: i can never leave this man alone, i'm sorry y'all </3 inspired by sukufalke's modern!sukuna tweets! art by su2kuna <3
A FEVER YOU CANT SWEAT OUT 𑣲 series masterlist TAGLIST IS CLOSED IF I DONT LIKE UR COMMENT IT MEANS IM NOT ADDING YOU.
synopsis ꩜ the cute emo boy from your college is completely enamored with you and your pretty outfits, so when he hears you and your shitty boyfriend finally broke up, he wastes no time in planning how to make you his.
pairing ˎˊ˗ emo! choso x girly! reader
warning / tags ⟢ fem! reader, MDNI 18+, this will be a bit angsty, yuki is ooc here, cheating, miscommunication, friends to lovers, inappropriate use of drum sticks, blowjobs, pussy eating, hair pulling, subby choso, he has a prince albert, yes he will whimper, fluff, tba…
