man i wish i could get a free bag of chipppppsss
a drop of sweat inches at tortoise pace down from his tanned left temple by the power of newtonâs gravity. and by the power of sheer self-control amongst other things, conveniencestoreworker!sukuna gulps louder than he has ever remembered doing so.
in his two decades of living, standing there as a 6 foot 5 man akin more to kratos the god of war, he has never felt so⊠watched? expected upon? what the fuck�
there you sit, politely on a lonely bench a mere two and a half feet behind him, facing his broad back. he continues shuffling with the aluminium foiled bags, each filled (less than generously) with sickly sodium, syrupy sugars and radiant red-40 pornographically packaged in colours as seen on salvia.
takis, cheetos, doritos, pringles etcetera
your eager eyes canât help themselves but follow the man in front of youâs hypotonic arm mechanisms like a moth to a flame. your attention is so focused on the small loads of diabetes, cancer and cardiac arrest, that you hardly notice the two dark bands circling his wrists in a tattoo.
itâs 12:30 am. sukuna wonders why his procrastinating ass didnât stock up the empty metal vending machine, sat like a good dog outside the store, earlier. the summer heat sticks to the air from the day like a manâs first love and the sweaty beads of grease building up beneath your bare crossed legs.
nothing like a good convenience store rummage through after a mild night out. youâre not drunk out of your ass, actually youâre not very drunk at all but damn wouldnât you like a free bag of chips. only to have all your cravings crushed like a bug under a giantâs foot when you peer through the closed sign and the tired man shakes his head no, do you sit down defeated. right outside the store in persevering protest.
he feels like he is hallucinating. the pile of chips do not get any smaller and it feels like he is stuck in a reoccurring dream. extend arm. pick up chip bag. retract arm. extend arm. place in machine. repeat.
why the fuck is she still there? are you passed out? no - he knows this feeling of being preyed upon in the dark, in alleys splattered with blood and missing teeth, though heâs never really felt like the prey. you are fully conscious, sentient and determined.
absentmindedly, admittedly feeling a shrill of awkwardness since youâve been staring for a couple of minutes you start humming a song stuck in your head from your night. and then, even more absentmindedly. a whisper? no, a breath -
ââŠchips.â and again - sukuna strains his ears subconsciously, âwish i had a free bag of chippsss.â he immediately wishes he wasnât paying attention.
he stills. straightening his posture, forcing his hefty shoulders back. sukuna was never one for charity, menacing and ruthless to anyone that encountered him. you would have to kick him in balls, tie him up successfully before you every laid your pretty manicured hands on a single packet.
he gives you the worldâs nastiest side-eye, shifting microscopically, nearly popping a booming blood vessel as he blinks away the discomfort from straining his eye balls. he continues working. another eon (half a minute) goes by, each millisecond prodding at his mountain of a back like cupid was shooting spears wearing drunk goggles. you start making a stupid noise with your mouth. something like a tut but also like a ticking clock, like youâre fed up of waiting, like youâre his cute girlfriend whoâs pouting cos sheâs being bratty and not getting what she wants. sukuna stares blankly at the void shelf inches away from his face, he thinks and then he turns.
he swiftly lifts his left knee up to his corresponding pec, patting down and balling up a crumpled bag. he propels it in your general direction at the humble speed of light
was what he was imaginingâŠ
but in reality he simply PLOPS! a pretty purple pack of takis onto your lap like it belongs there. he gains your attention and youâre astounded. 20 seconds ago you had made your mind up, convincing yourself that pretty privilege doesnât always work and that you have to start picking up the shattered pieces of your heart at the fact that you will indeed not get your free bag of chips.
youâre so caught off guard you donât even know how to react. you instinctively shine the most natural smile at him like he just hung the entire solar system right in front of you. he turns away and resumes his work by the time youâre thanking him as if youâre a cat in the gobi desert and an earth worm has handed you a pail of glistening water. sukuna kisses his teeth, cranes his arm slightly backwards and waves his hand in your direction, still not facing you.
âget a move on already,â he begrudgingly grumbles out, but you donât miss it - even under the faint moonlight and scarcely littered dim street lights
the tinge of rose red
that blossoms up his mid helix
to the tips of his ears,
blending in preciously with his closing-hour roseate mop of hair.














