Sleepaholic fanfic author

Taglist: @soleil-et-letoile @aphroditeslaps

★He absolutely has a praise and provocation thing going on. He’ll smirk and tease/taunt while also cooing dirty words that make women turn on. Things like “Look at you…fuck.” “There y’go.” “What a pretty doll with your mouth full.”

★He’s definitely into restraint/light bondage. Not in an excessive and sadistic BDSM way tho. More like practical things: belt around wrists, ropes, pinning hands and manhandling.

 He’s a cowboy obviously.

So he learned knots from ranch work and uses that knowledge very wisely.

★He likes when someone grabs onto him (roughly). whether it's his clothes or shoulders or chest or even his hair. There’s something hot and desperate about it to him.

☾ Chapter 1 - The Hunter ☽

summary: you run away from a painful past looking for absolution. as you go deeper into the woods you find yourself in the middle of the ruins of a forgotten temple. in momentary solace you pray, and find something ancient listened to your prayer and it gives you an answer.

pairing: dark deity!sukuna x witch!reader

cw: MDNI, dark content, dark themes, blasphemy, sacrilege, non explicit animal death (no real animals got hurt), possessive!sukuna, reader with religious trauma, reader with family trauma, witchcraft, submissive reader, reader learns to set boundaries, rituals, eventual smut, mentions of death

wc: 2.6k (read time: 13 minutes)

do not repost. do not feed to ai. read in ao3. divider cred: @thecutestgrotto

Things were not supposed to have turned out this way. You took a moment to gather your surroundings, but besides the same sort of trees that had been accompanying you since you parted three days ago, nothing else was familiar. A few days ago, circumstances left you with no other options but to flee, to run and never look back. You had done your best not to dig into the memories. You were tired. Your body ached as you were forced to pull your feet from the mud yet again in order to keep moving. 

The journey had not been an easy one either. The cloak over your shoulders could do only so much to protect you. Between rainstorms and cold, windy nights, that carried the accusing voice of your mother, sleep eluded you. By now, the only thing left to feel was the exhaustion as it consumed right through body and soul. You needed to find some sort of shelter. 

In the loneliness of the forest, right when you were ready to surrender and accept whatever fate God might have for you, you stumbled upon some ruins of an ancient temple. As soon as your muddy soles touched the solid footing of the temple's stones, your legs gave out . And there, in the suffocating loneliness of ruins from a past you did not know, your own caught up to you. 

In less than a week, everything had gone horribly wrong. The whole of the Zenin family had been massacred. Your own family, all three remaining members that composed it, were also dead. You told yourself that none of it had been your fault, none of them had died, or been killed by your own hand. Not directly, at least. 

This is all your fault, echoed your mothers voice in your head. It would soon be over four days of no sleep, wandering through the woods hearing the same thing over and over again. This is all your fault. You were exhausted and unsure how much more of this internal turmoil you could take before you finally lost it. 

Maybe your mother was right. Maybe there really was something wrong with you. Perhaps it had been from the start. Your body—weak from lack of sleep and food—began to tremble. Accepting that you were in no condition to try and keep going until you found another village, you mustered enough strength to stand and search for some lost provisions, or at least a protective corner you could cuddle into.

The ruin was very old, that much was certain from the way few pillars stood while the rest laid crumbled around with pieces of what you believed to have been a ceiling once upon a time. It had all been reclaimed by nature. Vines twisted up each column remaining, making it impossible to recognize any imagery that could help identify on behalf of which saint it had been erected. 

You found yourself in the center of it all, feet unconsciously dragging you up to that point. Beneath the vines and the overgrown weeds breaking through stone, you saw strange markings carved down, their meaning long forgotten in time. Further in front of you, a wide set of stairs lead into an empty altar facing all wrong to the west. Perhaps this was the reason it had been abandoned. It had been made wrong. 

Despite its wrongness, the ruin’s peaceful aura welcomed you. In its comfort, you found yourself collapsing under the weight of everything.There was nowhere else to go. And so, all the ghosts you dragged from home caught up to you. A broken wail tore out from your throat before you knew what else to do. Your trembling hands dug into the ground, the mud staining them and your dress and your composure broke down further. 

You cried until there was nothing left, but shuddering breaths. You had been granted no mercy nor grace. It had been a miserable life, the one you had been granted. You were tired of that as well. Tired of praying for change, of screaming to a god that never showed any signs of listening.

A memory of your mother interrupted those thoughts before they went further. She always said that if an answer has not yet appeared, it was a sign to continue praying. You saw her pray endlessly throughout your life, and even at the very cruel end, every single one went unanswered. Perhaps, she prayed to the wrong one, after all what kind of god would bless men like them and ignore both you and your mother’s prayers.

Still, you supposed you could try again. You could send a prayer to anyone who was willing to hear. There was no one left who could judge or chide you. And this seemed like the perfect place to try something different. Back home, that empty building, full of paintings and statues of angels and saints, always felt unreasonably cold towards you. Not once did it bring the peace it promised. Ironic how amongst ruins you felt most welcome. 

You doubted there was anyone who would take you in, a woman too ruined, too broken to be worthy. Still, you would pray. You would pray to be heard. To be cleansed from all the horrors that chased you. To be made a new creature. 

You tried recalling the prayer your mother had taught you growing up, despite how meaningless the words were in your situation. You recited them with no conviction. Now, it was all you had left to offer in exchange. There before the altar to no one, you bowed lower, and said the words out loud.

“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name…” 

Time passed by, reciting the prayer over and over again. You hadn’t done anything. None of it was your fault. You needed to be cleansed, to be forgiven. You needed to be made pure, to be purified of the sinful thoughts that had taken over back then. You had meant nothing by it.  

Liar.

You prayed again and begged for forgiveness. You did not know what you were doing. You never meant for anyone to truly get hurt.

You meant all of it. 

A chill ran down your spine. That voice, deep and dark, foreign to your own inner voice, broke through every thought. You were beginning to hallucinate, you had to be. It had been far too long since you last had anything to eat or drink. As weakness took over you, you tried to steady yourself, focusing on your breathing.

You remained as still as you could in the dead silence that ensued. The trees surrounding you suddenly seemed taller. It had been quiet before, but now the whole of the woods turned absolutely silent. Even the wind ceased its blowing as if it held its breath bracing for what was to come. 

Denial doesn’t suit you. 

You whipped your head up, expecting someone—something—standing near you. You broke into a cold sweat as you realized there was no one there. It would do you no favors to let fear take over now, not when you’d gotten this far. While you had no recollection of this place from maps you’d seen back from merchants nor from any of the stories from the folks back home, there should be another village near. If only you could muster some more strength from the bottom of your soul— 

From the very darkness deep inside of you? 

You sat still as a deep, mocking laugh filled the silence. 

Poor little witchling, you carved your hatred into bone with blood and now you seek absolution? 

“Who-Who’s there?” 

A dark figure materializes at the top of the stairs, sitting like a king. Bright, red eyes peered right back at yours condescendingly. 

“The only one who would listen to your pathetic prayer. Tell me, witchling, do you really believe you deserve forgiveness?” 

You were tired of running. If this was what it was like to slowly slip away, you would face your death, but not without confessing your sins. There had to be a way to unburden yourself of the crippling guilt that ate you from the inside. 

“I didn’t know what I was doing. I never meant anything real to happen.” 

“Oh? Didn’t you?” 

“I am not a bad person.” 

“Hm, I never said you were. I ask again, do you believe you deserve forgiveness?” 

It was a test, it had to be. You pondered the question—did you really deserve forgiveness? From what your mother had taught you, forgiveness was given when there was repentance, true repentance. It was the only way to be granted grace. You thought of all the times you'd seen them in mass. They had been granted entry into a most holy space, but then again so had you. 

Did that mean they were forgiven? If it did, your sins couldn't even compare to the ones you knew them capable of. Not to mention the sins no one knew. But if people like them were granted grace and forgiveness, why shouldn't you? 

"I only pray to be forgiven for my sins. However undeserving I may be." 

The figure before you tilts its head, studying you. 

"You are." 

"I am forgiven?" 

"No, undeserving. But there is no mortal who isn't. It is your nature, no matter how hard your kind fights against it." 

The figure stands, and a shiver runs down your spine at how small you felt before it, not just physically. The way you felt it looked at you frightened you. What could it—he—see? Did he see you all pathetic and weak? Or was there something deeper inside of you that he had noticed? 

As he took a step down the stairs, the shadows that danced ands rippled with his very being vanished to reveal a face. Human enough, except for the strange markings that appeared all over and the eyes. All four of them crimson, as bright as the blood just spilt by the sheep slain back home. You did not dare move as he stopped right in front of you, offering a small smile you were not foolish enough to take for kindness. 

Every sense inside of you screamed to run, to keep running away as far as you could from your village, and from him. But you were tired. In body and soul. And you needed to rest both. 

"Tell me, witchling," he knelt on one knee before you, his size still dwarfing yours, "do you desire to be forgiven?" 

"Yes," you huffed. "More than anything. I wish to be cleansed, to be made new." 

A large hand gripped you by the chin, gently, keeping your watery eyes on his. 

"I can be your salvation. I can offer you the redemption you so desperately seek. But what will you give me in return?" 

His thumb caressed your lower lip, urging you to speak up. He wanted an answer. You thought of your mother, of your sister, and oddly enough you thought of that strange woman you had met when you were just a child. Weak, powerless, and alone. Suddenly the answer became clear. 

"I'll give you anything." 

The grin that stretched across the strange being's face made you realize that it wasn't just anything you'd be surrendering to him. He would settle for nothing less than everything you had to give. You supposed this was still better than having no options at all. Better than having nowhere to go, nowhere to return to. In the end, the truth remained you had absolutely nothing of worth to offer. And if he was willingly promising you what you so desperately yearned for, why wouldn't you accept? 

Pleased to see the resolution in your eyes, he let you go. He looked down at you with that same curious tilt of the head. In the poor lighting left by the sun dipping past the horizon, his eyes glowed. 

"Do you give yourself, freely and willingly, to me?" 

This time, you did not hesitate. "I do." 

"Hm, lovely." He looked towards the sky and inhaled deeply, as if it were the first breath he took in a while. "You can address me as Lord Sukuna." 

Hearing the name of the being before you felt heavy. As if it had deep meaning to be on the receiving end of such a revelation. You felt it was only fair to offer something similar in return. 

"My name is—" 

"Your name is of no importance, witchling. It already belongs to me." 

The nickname left you a bit ruffled. But you doubted there was anything you could've done about it. You stayed put while Sukuna circled around you, similar to how you'd seen cats circling their prey. 

"Such a pitiful state." 

As if you hadn't already been humiliated enough, a deep loud growling sound breaks through the silence. You wrap both arms around your stomach in an effort to hide the origins of the disruption. Sukuna lifted an eyebrow at you. You swore you could already understand him. Pathetic, he seemed to say. 

He jerked his chin towards the woods, "Eat." 

You followed the direction he pointed to, and suddenly a small rabbit hopped out of the wild grass. You looked back at Sukuna to find he was staring at you expectantly. He wanted you to catch it, to hunt it. You carried nothing with you, not an arrow—not that you'd know how to shoot one—or a knife. 

A second test. He smiled as if he could hear your thoughts coming to that conclusion. Good, he seemed to say wordlessly, only your stomach is empty apparently. You pushed yourself off the ground slowly, trying to not scare the poor critter away as well as giving time for your legs to recover from the position. 

You stared at your meal determinedly, hands opening and closing nervously as you pondered the best way to catch it. But before you could take a step, Sukuna stepped closely behind you. You looked down nervously to find yourself caged in by him entirely. Large bare feet stood outside your own, toenails black as the night. Your heart skipped a beat when he grabbed both hands, positioning your left extended towards the rabbit. He guided your right by the wrist, shivering slightly at the foreign sensation of your hand brushing your sternum on its way under your chin. 

"If you want my continued guidance and protection, you will learn how to carry yourself as a devotee of mine. You will own your power and wield it just as I would." 

A rush of strong energy entered through both contact points into your body. Heat stronger than what you had felt that night coursed through every vein. You closed your eyes at the sensation, suddenly too much to bear. 

"Do not look away, witchling. Focus and aim." 

It hurt like hell. You were not sure if it felt like that because of how weak your constitution currently was. You doubted being at your strongest would help much though. Whatever you felt that night could not begin to compare to this. Whatever euphoria, haze that had taken over that night, seemed so shallow in his presence. 

You struggled to keep your eyes open as sweat started to drip into them, but still, you made an effort to listen and obey. You felt Sukuna pull tighter and felt the energy waiting to be released. You searched all over until finding the rabbit. 

There. Your prey. 

The thought occurred suddenly, it felt good to be the hunter. To have control of another, to be powerful. As soon as you accepted it, you let go. 

A string of fire shot from your hands and pierced the rabbit before it had a chance to blink. 

His chuckle reverberated straight to your core, "Lovely."