#thursdays

that said, i’ve missed hanging out with you here, and i can’t wait for you to see what was going on in his brain while he was busy pretending to be cool each week.

thanks for coming back to my favourite little routine; hope you love this run just as much as the first one ♥️

ps—remember how the original started slow? same deal here—sukuna’s a little wordless gremlin at first, so bear with him.

Thursday, 9:00 p.m.

Sukuna shops late because it’s easier that way.

By nine, most people have already done what they needed to do for the day. The store is quieter, without constant chatter or carts colliding at every corner.

He no longer dwells on why he prefers this hour. It’s just the hour that works. The garage usually closes at seven, sometimes later if someone shows up desperate and willing to pay extra. By the time he locks up, wipes his hands clean, and drives home to drop off his things, the edge of the day has already dulled into something manageable.

He doesn’t make a list, nor does he need one. The store’s layout hasn’t changed in years, and neither has the order in which he moves through it. First, he grabs produce since it’s closest to the entrance, then heads to the refrigerated aisle, followed by dry goods, and finally anything missing from the last grocery trip. 

As usual, he carries a basket instead of a cart because he doesn’t buy enough to justify wheels.

The overhead music plays something indistinct, though he doesn’t really listen. He passes a woman near the entrance, softly arguing into her phone; a man loudly comparing expiration dates; and an employee dragging a crate of wilted lettuce toward the back. None of it demands his attention, and he moves past them without slowing, aware of his body in space as he always has been, adjusting by inches rather than apology.

In the refrigerated aisle, he reaches for a few bottles of protein shake without looking at the labels. He already knows which one he wants. There’s a woman there; she’s smaller than he is, but that isn’t really unusual, as most people are. She has her cart angled slightly away from the shelf, and he notices her only because she occupies the same stretch of tile he plans to step into. 

He shifts half a step to the side and walks past. Then he notices movement in his peripheral vision, which briefly makes him aware of being watched. It’s the same kind of glance he receives everywhere he goes, but he’s used to it, so he doesn’t turn his head. There’s no reason to.

His boots hit the floor in a rhythmic pattern that softly echoes in the nearly empty space as he moves down the aisle. He picks up what he came for, doubles back once for the nuts mix he almost forgot, and heads toward the registers without veering into the middle rows. 

By the time he walks through the automatic doors, only two other cars are in the parking lot besides his. He loads the bags into the passenger seat, gets behind the wheel, and drives home, mentally going over his workout plan for later today and the list for tomorrow morning’s work. 

tags: @5seos @nerdjoenjoyer @nakiich @sspiralma @plaguecxlt @puttyly @chiaramartyna @shamelessdancer @qq-cup1d @man1cslut @spookyeomgoose @starmapz @sukunash0e @ssoapyyy @ita606 @dianhani @i-luv-mangos @ninani-nanina @alexa4040 @ram3nsukuna @dadonprimma @frigga13

other places that i'll be lurking = my main is @/apocalyptic-endings <- please use that for tag games <3 also running @/photographer-offical

credits = dividers by @strangergraphics @pxrce-lain #lobster graphics

mod info down here vvv

uh hi im mod

she/he/they pronouns

im a minor dont be a creep

dont be a twat either