ā”ļ½„ļ¾šø Contagion šøļ½„ļ¾ā”
ā” Characters: Ryomen Sukuna x GN!Reader ā” Warnings: Yandere themes, obsession, possessive behavior, intrusive thoughts, gore (?), violent impulses, intense psychological conflict, inappropriate touching (nonsexual but unsettling), power imbalance, emotional repression, Sukuna being a freak in denial lmao ā” WC: ~800 ā” Notes: Part two of Ordinary (you donāt have to read it first, but like... you totally should bc Iām cool and my fics slap). A single look becomes a single touch, and Sukuna spirals even harder. Heās angry, unhinged, and worst of allāheās feeling. Proximity is breaking him, and he canāt stand how much he wants more. Part 3? Probably. Iām feral.
Ā šøāļ½”ĖāļøĖļ½”āšø
The day had been dragging its feet, a dull smear of routineātraining with Yuji, dodging curses, the usual grind. Youāre in some abandoned warehouse now, the air thick with dust and the faint reek of mildew, sparring with the kid to keep his reflexes sharp. Heās mid-laugh, dodging a lazy punch you threw, when it happens. His grin freezes, eyes widening for a split second before they darkenābrown bleeding into crimson, pupils sharpening to slits. The shift is instantaneous, like a light snuffed out, and the body in front of you isnāt Yujiās anymore. Itās Sukunaās.
He doesnāt say a word at first, just straightens up, rolling Yujiās shoulders like heās stretching into a new skin. His presence fills the room, heavy and suffocating, and those red eyes lock onto you with an intensity that makes your pulse stutter. You should be scaredāanyone else would beābut you just square your stance, chin up, watching him right back.
āBratās too soft with you,ā he says, voice low, a growl threading through Yujiās lighter tone.Ā
He steps closer, barefoot on the cracked concrete, and the air turns sharp, electric.Ā
āLets you get away with too much.ā
You tilt your head, unfazed.Ā
āAnd youāre here to fix that?ā
His lips twitch, a snarl masquerading as a smirk, and he closes the distance in two strides, looming over you.Ā
Heās still in Yujiās body, but it doesnāt feel like itāevery move is too deliberate, too predatory, the way he tilts his head, the way his gaze rakes over you like heās peeling back your skin.Ā
āI could snap your neck between two fingers,ā he growls, one hand darting out, claw-tipped even in this borrowed form.Ā
His index finger hooks under your chin, tilting it up with a pressure thatās just shy of piercing flesh, the sharp edge grazing your pulse.
āTwist it right off and watch you flop like a broken doll.ā
You donāt flinch. His breath is hot against your face, smelling faintly of copper and something darker, and you can feel the tremor in his gripāanger, maybe, or something worse.Ā
āBut?ā you prompt, voice steady, daring him to finish.
His eyes narrow, crimson flaring, and his claw stills, pressing harder for a heartbeat before he speaks again, quieter, rougher.Ā
āBut Iād miss the way your voice sounds when you say my name.āĀ
The words slip out like a confession he didnāt mean to make, and his jaw tightens, teeth grinding as if he could bite them back.
Your lips part, a retort halfway there, but he moves firstāhis free hand brushing yours, accidental, just a graze of knuckles as he shifts his weight. Itās fleeting, barely a second, but the contact hits him like a jolt.Ā
Your skin is warm, too soft against the calloused edge of his borrowed flesh, and it sticksāclings to him like damp blood, seeping into his nerves. He freezes, eyes flicking to where your hands almost met, then back to your face.Ā
āYour skinā¦ā he mutters, low and guttural, like heās tasting the words. āTch. Filthy.ā
But he doesnāt pull away. Doesnāt wipe his hand clean. His claws curl tight instead, digging into his own palm until black blood wells up, and you catch the flicker of something in his gazeādisgust, maybe, or hunger.Ā
He steps closer still, chest brushing yours, and for a split second, his other hand liftsālike he might touch you again, softer this time, trace the line of your jaw with something less than violence. But then his eyes widen, a snarl ripping out of him, and he snaps it back, fist clenching so hard the tendons creak.Ā
Like you burned him.Ā
Like he canāt trust himself.
āWhy do you care?ā he snaps, voice jagged, leaning in until his forehead nearly touches yours, his breath ragged against your lips.Ā
āYou look at meāhimālike that, all soft and worried, and itās fucking disgusting. Why?ā
You donāt back down, meeting his glare head-on.Ā
āWhy does it matter to you?ā
He goes still, deadly quiet, and the warehouse feels smaller, the air thicker, like itās pressing in around you both. His handāthe one that brushed yoursātwitches at his side, and youād swear heās fighting the urge to grab you again, to dig those claws in and see if youād break or bend.Ā
āYouāre a plague,ā he says finally, voice dropping to a hiss, but he doesnāt move away.Ā
Doesnāt retreat. Just stands there, too close, staring like heās trying to carve you into his memoryāor carve himself out of yours.
ā”ļ½”ļ¾āļøļ½”ā”ļ¾
Later that night, when Yujiās back in control, laughing off the spar like nothing happened, Sukunaās silent. Buried deep in that shared skull, heās seething, replaying that touchāthe heat of your skin, the way it lingered, the way it branded him.Ā
He dreams of it, a fractured, furious haze of red light and soft flesh, your hand brushing his again and again until he wakes, claws tearing into Yujiās sheets, black blood staining the fabric.Ā
Heās pissedālividāat you, at himself, at the way that fleeting contact wonāt leave his fucking fingers.
















