rage

You take deep breaths to calm your beating heart. It’s just Sukuna. It’s just Sukuna. He comes to stand next to you, setting the lantern down on the nightstand. 

“Scoot over,” he demands. You furrow your brow at him. “Shouldn’t be sleeping so close to the door. It’s not safe.” 

Oh. How gentlemanly of him. You scoot over, disrupting the made side of the bed. The quilt smells a bit stale, but it's a welcome alternative to a sleeping bag. The mattress dips as Sukuna slips into bed next to you. In the dim light, it’s positively domestic as he reaches over, broad back to you, to shut off the lantern. 

Tonight, there’s no need to be on top of each other. There’s no small, one person sleeping bag. There’s no faux satin to bare chest, to tattooed chest. Instead, in the darkness, Sukuna lays on his back and tucks his arm up, hand under the pillow. 

You rest beside him, stock-still. It is Sukuna, after all. You almost feel like you can’t rest completely: what if he decides he doesn’t want you anymore? Sukuna huffs a bit. 

“So what? You hate me now?” He asks into the darkness. “You don’t want to drool on me any longer?” 

“I don’t drool,” you murmur in protest. 

“You do,” Sukuna says. He pats his pectoral, “C’mere. I’ve gotten used to you on me.” 

You don’t move. Sukuna sighs loudly, as if he’s more so annoyed by your reluctance than anything else. 

“Woman–” 

“I don’t understand what it is you want with me,” you say softly. You don’t. He wants a wife? Now? During these trying times? 

“Right now, I want you to come lay on me,” Sukuna says. You can hear the way his head rolls to face you on the pillow. “Are you going to deny me that?” 

“I don’t know,” you say softly. “Should I?” 

Sukuna tsks. “Woman.” 

You roll your eyes. “You sound like a misogynist when you speak to me like that.” 

Sukuna slaps his hand over his eyes. “Jesus Christ.” 

You smile. “There’s no need to be so vulgar.” 

Sukuna groans, then stops abruptly. 

“You’re fucking with me.” 

You hum. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.” 

“I don’t like being played with,” Sukuna warns. 

Smile still on your face, you roll away from him to face the wall. 

“Woman–” 

“Misogynist.” 

“Doll–” 

“So you think women are objects.” 

Another frustrated groan. Your smile becomes wider, and you hide it into your pillow. 

“Stop taking pleasure from this,” Sukuna huffs. He pauses, then: “[First].” 

You roll back over at the call of your name. 

“Yes, Sukuna?” 

He’s quiet for a moment. “Sukuna’s my last name. You can call me Ryomen.” 

“Ryomen?” You clarify. 

“Yeah.” 

It’s silent in the bedroom for a few moments. Then, you shuffle over and slot yourself against Sukuna, against Ryomen, and rest your head on his chest. He tenses under you, and then quickly relaxes. His hand comes out from under the pillow, wrapping around your back firmly. The pressure is comforting. Unlikely his hands would ever harm you, and there’s something gratifying about that. 

ii. eggs

Sunlight breaks into the bedroom in the same way that eggs break against cast iron skillets. You wake up slowly, comfortable and warm. Alone, head on a pillow. The bedding has been drawn up around you, but when you reach over to Sukuna’s side, it’s still warm. 

The bed calls for you to fall back asleep. You lay there, basking in the normalcy of it all. It’s like you’re dreaming– you had a dream like this back at the abandoned building. You were just about to wake up, but your eyes were closed and Uraume was scuttling about and sounded like your cats. You could see your bedroom, smell it too. You knew, deep down, that you were not there, but it felt like you were. 

This feels like that dream. Through the closed door, you can hear conversations happening out in the living room. There’s the smell of coffee and eggs that floats around faintly as well. 

If this is the apocalypse, then maybe it will all be okay. You close your eyes once more, taking deep breaths of the stale quilt that now smells more like shampoo and antibacterial soap, and ignore the way it also smells like Sukuna. 

You mosey out of your room the same way your cat would mosey out of your bed and trail behind you until it was breakfast time. You go into the hallway, walk down it, and then come to the living room, where breakfast is not being had. Instead, Toji is showing off a rifle to Sukuna, who is looking at it with wide, excited eyes. 

Right. This is the apocalypse. It doesn’t make any sense– it’s not like there are zombies out there to protect from. It rattles you, to your core, how mankind has turned on each other so quickly. 

“What are you doing?” You ask quietly, not too sure if you want to know. Uraume isn’t present. 

Sukuna turns to look at you, smiling widely. 

“Good morning, princess,” he says, then rises to his full height to greet you. He comes over, wrapping an arm around your waist, and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. What’s gotten into him this morning? “How did you sleep?” 

“Really well,” you say softly, still a bit groggy. “I think I slept too much, I’m still tired.” 

“‘Cause you slept in a real bed,” Sukuna says, his smile proud. “This is good, this is good. Let’s feed you– Toji.” 

Toji looks unimpressed at the not-so-subtle demand. 

“You’ll cook for me but not for a woman?” Sukuna asks. 

With a groan, Toji stands with the help of his hands on his knees. He picks up his rifle, knowing it’s for the best to keep it out of Sukuna’s reach. 

“I cooked for you because I was cooking for myself,” he says, “But yeah, I’ll make the princess somethin’ to eat.” 

“Thank you, Toji,” you say kindly, the term churning something in your stomach. Princess… How patronizing. What a good place to be in though, right? As a princess? 

Toji grunts at you as he passes, heading into the kitchen. You stand with Sukuna, him still all-too-close and touching you. 

“Is there coffee?” You ask softly, tilting your head to look up at Sukuna. “I thought I smelt some earlier, but it could have been my imagination.” 

“There’s coffee,” Sukuna says. “It’s black, though. Is that okay with you?” 

It has been for the past few weeks, but you’d been hoping that Toji miraculously had some sort of milk or milk alternative to sweeten up your morning ritual. 

“It’s fine,” you decide upon. Slipping out of Sukuna’s hold, you pad off to the kitchen where Toji is scrambling eggs beside his gas stove. 

“Hi, Toji,” you chirp. You feel like you have to make up for Sukuna’s pushiness. “Sukuna said there was coffee?” 

“I’ll put some on for you,” Toji says into the pan he stands before. A little moka pot sits on the back burner of his gas stove. He wets his lips before adding on. “You can have a little bit of sugar with it, if you want too. But I don’t have a lot left.” 

Your eyes light up. “Sugar?” 

He nods. “Brown sugar, technically, but sugar. You’d like that?” 

“I would,” you say with a thankful smile. “That’s very thoughtful of you.” 

“Figured you probably don’t like your coffee black,” Toji says. He adds some cheese to your scrambled eggs, some of the pre-shredded stuff that comes in the bag from the grocery store. They cook a bit longer, then he slides it out onto a plate and hands it off to you, with a fork. “Go sit at the table.” 

This isn’t his first time cooking like this. 

You thank him once more before heading to sit at the dining table. You still haven’t seen Uraume, and when you’d passed the bathroom, the door had been open. 

Maybe he’s run off. Doubtful. You enjoy your eggs– they taste like your childhood. 

Toji comes minutes later with a cup of coffee for you, and when you sip it, it’s a little sweet. Giddy, you wrap both your hands around the mug and take another sip. You finish your breakfast, savoring every bite gratefully. 

iii. spirit

“She’s so beautiful,” you breathe, running your hand along Playful Cloud’s powerful neck. She’s a strawberry roan, and Toji has been nice enough to introduce you to her. You’re wearing your work boots– Sukuna did get to pop your blister earlier and left you to bandage it– and a t-shirt of the same man’s. 

“She loves praise,” Toji says, softer than you’ve ever heard him. 

“Does she?” 

It’s the three of you– you, Toji, Playful Cloud. 

“She deserves it,” you finish, positively giddy. Looking at her, you speak to her: “You’re so beautiful, but you know that already, don’t you?” 

She snorts a bit, turning her head to face you. She presses her muzzle against your shoulder, and you laugh delightfully. Post-blister-pop, you’ve been in your boots and helping Toji in the stables, despite Sukuna’s protests. You just fed the horses, that’s all. Toji did the mucking, he raised the water from the well, he did all the hard labor. You fed them hay from your palm. 

“Did you ride before all of this?” Toji asks. 

“When I was little,” you admit. “I had this trip to go to Mongolia planned, to ride horses out in the countryside, but that’s never happening. I was taking some classes on the weekends to get ready for it.” 

Toji’s quiet for a moment, contemplating. “I can get a saddle on her.” 

You look over at him with big, wide eyes. “Really?” 

He nods. “We’ll have to get you better shoes, but I think I’ve got something.” 

Laughing, you shake your head. “We’re not the same size.” 

“I know,” Toji says. “You’re what? A 7? 8?” 

Ten minutes later, you’re sitting at the dining table and Toji is presenting you with a pair of riding boots. They go up to your shin, and lo and behold, they are your size. They have little butterflies on them, and seem pretty worn in. 

You swallow thickly as you accept the shoes. They’re heavy in your hands, more than just their physical weight. 

Then, you’re out back with the horses, watching as Toji saddles up Playful Cloud. He gives you a hand up, and you feel eight again and happier than ever, taking the reins in your hands. 

“She’s got to conserve her energy, so be gentle with her,” Toji says, rubbing the roan’s neck. 

“We’ll be gentle,” you promise. 

Sukuna watches from his stoop-perch, knees up and elbow resting on them, cheek smushed from his fist, as you ride Playful Cloud around the little fenced off area for her. You look so happy up there, belly full and eyes bright. He can’t quite hear you from where he sits, but he can hear your faint call to Toji, followed by the horse speeding up beneath you. 

He looks up at the sky, checking the time. He holds his fingers up, counting the hours left in the day. So many. He never thought the apocalypse would bring so much boredom. You have that reading-book-electronic thing, and that notebook he catches you scrawling away in. He’s got his own thoughts, and that’s about it. Maybe he can get Toji to take him hunting. 

That would be fun. A little bit of socially acceptable killing. 

iv. savor

When the sun sets, you go to bed. Everyone goes to bed. You, Sukuna, Uraume, Toji. You half expect your compatriots to stay awake for a period of time, illuminated by candlelight or electronic lamps, but tonight that is not the case. You change into your pyjamas– which you need to figure out a way to do laundry– and crawl into bed as the last dredges of sunlight creep down below the horizon. 

Sukuna stands at the foot of the bed, and you can just barely make out the way that he scratches his belly under his shirt. He watches you through the dim light, as you settle into your side and immediately close your eyes. 

“I miss exercising,” you offer to him, as some bid of connection. 

“You were out there on that horse,” Sukuna says. He yawns loudly, then belches. “Seems like exercise to me.” 

Disgusting. You pull the quilt up to your chin and roll away from him. “It’s not the same.” 

Sukuna comes over to his side of the bed and pulls back the quilt. He settles in and yawns again, stretching out. His forearm comes to rest across your face and you bring your hand up to push him away. 

You yawn this time. Sukuna’s forearm is wide in your grip– you squeeze him before gently releasing his arm. Unfortunately, his weight in the bed beside you is comforting, and you can’t decipher how you feel about it. 

It’s quiet for a beat, before Sukuna replies to your last statement: “Nothing’s the same anymore.” 

“Well, yeah.” You sigh, loudly. “Just wish I had savored a few things more intentionally.” 

Sukuna hums. It’s not quite a response, but it gives you a chance to continue your thought. 

“I ended up not making it to my yoga class that morning because I was so hungover,” you admit, rolling over on your back. “I’d just showered and thrown up when everything happened.” 

Sukuna laughs. “Shit, how bad was your headache?” 

“I wanted to die,” you say softly, lighthearted and serious all at the same time. “Just waiting for it to happen.” 

“Had to stay alive for me,” Sukuna greedily says. 

You pft at him. “Well, what about you? What were you doing that morning?” 

Sukuna falls quiet. You can hear the way he shrugs against the bedding. Then, he rolls over and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his head on your chest– not obscenely, but all-too comfortable. The tips of his hair tickle your chin. It shocks you so thoroughly that you just wrap your arms around his broad back. Without meaning to, you gently rub at him; his muscles relax against you and he settles into you, heavy like your weighted blanket. 

“I was jerkin’ off,” he says, mumbling from his cheek being pressed against you. “To some shitty anime porn.” 

Instead of pushing him away, you laugh. “Oh my god. You’re a fucking dog.” 

He smiles against you. “That’s me.” 

“Get off me,” you say, laughing a little. “I can’t have a pervert on me like this.” 

Sukuna– though, when you’re in bed like this, he’s more Ryomen than anything else– makes a few fake-sleep sounds against you. Some snores, some honk-shoo-mimis. You feel a little warm watch patch of drool start to form on your chest. 

“You’re drooling on me,” you say, trying to push him off you. 

Sukuna hums. He lifts his head up and wipes his mouth, then plops right back down. He snuggles down, humming happily. 

“You’re so comfortable,” he says. “This is nice. I see why you cling to me like this at night.” 

“Oh my god,” you roll your eyes at him. You try to push him off you one last time, and then give in easily when you can’t move him. It’s quiet for a bit, and sleep nuzzles at you. He’s just like your weighted blankets, just like your bygone cats. 

v. wind 

It’s still early in the morning, the sun is peeking through the tips of the trees that surround Toji’s farm. Bright streaks of gauzy, buttercream sunlight filter through– or maybe that’s your untreated astigmatism. 

“Thousand Miles ain’t gonna bite ‘cha,” Toji grumbles to Sukuna. Both men stand by the dappled grey horse, Sukuna standing beside the little stepstool that Toji’s set beneath the stirrup. He’s got a hand on the horse’s reins, leaning over to pat the horn of the saddle, then the stirrup. “Just put your hand up here and your left foot in there.” 

Sukuna huffs, frowning as he uses the step stool to raise himself up a bit. He puts his hand on the horn, puts his foot in the stirrup–

“Swing yourself up. Those muscles can’t be for show,” Toji says. 

“Shut up,” Sukuna says, hoisting himself up and over. 

Thousand Miles shifts a bit, moving his hooves back and forth at the sudden addition of weight. Toji gently pats his cheek, then his neck. Toji doesn’t hand the reins over just yet, but he does gently guide Thousand Miles to walk around in a mild circle. 

Sukuna frowns, hands on the horn. His body shifts with every step that Thousand Miles takes. 

“Let me have the ropes,” Sukuna says. “Let me give it a go.” 

Toji raises his eyebrow at Sukuna. He holds the reins out, but doesn’t let go when Sukuna takes hold of them. 

“You sure?” Toji asks. 

“How hard can it be?” Sukuna huffs, taking the reins in his hands. 

“Easy,” Toji says, to both Sukuna and Thousand Miles, who starts a bit. He then looks up at Sukuna. “You pull on the reins to get him to slow down. He doesn’t need to be kicked hard to go faster. Just firmly.” 

“Right,” Sukuna says, and Toji takes a step back. 

“Just take him in a circle,” Toji says, heading over to pick up the stepstool. When Thousand Miles doesn’t move, Toji clicks his tongue. “Give him a nudge.” 

“Shit, okay,” Sukuna says, looking down and back–

“Eyes forward!” Toji says. “Just like you’re accelerating on a car.” 

Sukuna gives Thousand Miles too powerful of a nudge, because the horse takes off in a quick little canter. 

“Woah!” Sukuna says quickly, as Toji laughs. 

“We’ll make a rider out of you yet,” Toji says with a smile. 

Leaning against the weathered crossbuck fence, you watch as Toji schools Sukuna on his riding, all while nursing on a room temperature La Croix. It’s funny, to see Sukuna acting like a fish out of water, awkward mounted atop the stallion. Of course he had to have the stallion, of course he had to have the male horse. You rest your cheek in your hand as you watch, a little jealous. 

“Sit up straighter,” Toji scolds Sukuna. “You’re riding a horse, not playing a video game.” 

Sukuna grumbles, but does as he’s told. 

vi. creek

It’s days later: you’re saddled up in those boots you don’t know how the man of the house has and Sukuna’s saddled up and a little more comfortable and Toji’s there too, the most natural of all y’all. He’s got a hat for you that fits too, keeping the sun out of your eyes. 

Toji looks at you longer than he means to– the sight of Playful Cloud and that hat out of the corner of his eye causes him to double take every time. But with his rifle strapped to his back, he leads the two of you further away from the house, for a change of scenery. You’d complained about feeling cooped up and Sukuna had demanded that you be taken somewhere safe. 

Apparently, you’re killing two birds with one stone, because to the back of Split Soul, Toji’s horse, he has a pack of your dirty clothes and a wash board. Uraume accompanies the three of you, insisting that they were perfectly fine to follow on foot. 

“I own a fair share of this land,” Toji says, calling back to both you and Sukuna. He leads you through a field, “Though I guess no one owns anything anymore.” 

“It’s really beautiful out here,” you comment– and it is. The fields are peppered with dandelions, ready to have a wish blown on them. There are the specklings of flowers peeking through the soil, which you assume grows and gets harvested into hay. 

Toji grunts in response. 

“Do you think I could… go really fast in this field for a second?” You ask Toji, a little apprehensively. You remember what he said about conserving her energy. But you were out, out to give Sukuna a little practice, out to give you a change of scenery, out to wash your clothes. 

Toji stops Split Soul and turns in the saddle to look at you. You halt, and it takes Sukuna a second longer to stop. Toji wets his lips, then nods a few times. 

“Yeah, go for it, kid,” he says. 

Delighted, you nod a few times and then direct Playful Cloud away from the men. You nudge her with the heel of your borrowed boots, and she gets the message loud and clear. Horses love showing off. You remember that, from an Instagram Reel or a TikTok or something like that. 

The wind blows in your hair, tossing it behind you. It feels freeing on your face, on your exposed arms. An elated shriek comes out of you as you go off and off along the field. You’re so caught up in the emotion, in the freedom of it all, that you don’t register Sukuna’s eyes on you, or his voice after you. 

“That’s far enough!” He calls. 

Toji waits a few moments, lets you get a few more gallops away, before he places his fingers in his mouth and whistles loudly. Playful Cloud hears this and makes a wide turn, cantering back to her master. 

You’re breathless as you return, smile so wide across your face. If this is what the end of the world means, then what was the point of living beforehand? To watch short videos on your phone– to stare into that rectangle for hours a day doing nothing? 

“Oh my goodness,” you breathe, and you might as well look like the sun with how much you're glowing. 

“C’mon, speed demon,” Toji says, turning back towards their trek to the forest. “We gotta get this washed before the sun sets.” 

So you fall in line with Toji. In the woods, the sun dapples through the tree cover. The woods are so quiet, you’ve been surrounded with quiet and it’s unnerving. But there is the babbling of a brook, which Toji leads everyone down to. 

It’s beautiful, this little creek in the middle of the woods. There are two adirondack chairs set up with a little table between them that the sunlight hits perfectly.  Toji dismounts from Split Soul, and you follow suit, and Sukuna after you. You politely ignore the way he stumbles a bit and then rubs the inside of his thighs, then adjusts himself. 

With the horses content to stand and nose at the ground, searching for something edible, Toji sets up shop by the creek. Sukuna shucks off his shirt to add to the wash. He looks over at you, already settled in one of the chairs. 

“Want to get your shirt washed too?” He asks. 

“I’m not getting naked in front of all of you,” you say, crossing your arms. “Fat chance.” 

Sukuna rolls his eyes. “Woman, you think any of us give a shit?” 

“I do,” you say. “I think you want to see me without a shirt on.” 

Toji rolls his own eyes in turn, then turns to Uraume. “With the both of us, it’ll go fast,” he says, getting out the bar of soap and wetting it in the cool water of the creek. 

“You’d rather protect your modesty than have a nice, clean shirt?” Sukuna asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“I’d rather have my bra washed,” you admit. 

“Oh my god,” Sukuna breathes, taking a deep inhale through his nose. He comes over to where the chairs are, and turns one to be facing away from the creek. He’s a little forceful about it. “Take your fucking shirt off and hand it to me and just face this way.” 

Frowning, you can’t help but appreciate the gesture. You wait for him to turn around, his hands on his hips, and catch the way he swears fucking prude under his breath. 

You disrobe just your top half, and sit in the ​​adirondack chair facing away from the creek. You hold the clothes out back behind you. 

“Okay, you can take them now,” you say. 

Sukuna grumbles a bit more, taking the clothes and bringing them over to Toji and Uraume. Uraume is doing the washing, while Toji wets the clothes and instructs the other person on how to do so. One shirt is already done, so Toji hands it over to Sukuna, wrung out but wet. 

“Go set this out on that chair in the sun,” he says, then shakes his head. 

Sukuna brings it over, laying out in the sun. It’s one of his shirts, just a simple black tee from a pack, but he imagines you’ll be wearing it back. He ends up sitting down on the ground, resting his arms on his knees and hunching over. 

He faces the creek, sure to not look at you despite how badly he wants to take just a quick little peek. 

“Do your fucking thighs hurt after riding?” Sukuna asks. For the past few days, the two of you have been taking turns riding, mostly to pass the time. And, for what it’s worth, Toji looks like he’s enjoying teaching Sukuna how to ride. 

Humming, you nod. “Yeah. But in a good way. Like I know I’ve had a lot of fun.” 

Sukuna nods a few times, then brings his hand down to rub his hand over the inside of his thigh. 

“You get used to it,” you remark. “Do you like it?” 

He nods a few times. “Yeah. I do. It makes me feel kinda like a kid again.” 

You’re quiet for a moment. “What were you like as a kid?” 

Sukuna chuckles. “Rotten.” 

“Figures,” you mumble, enjoying the way the sun sits on your skin. “This is really nice.” 

“This the kind of shit you’re into? This the life you imagined for yourself?” 

“Oh, no,” you say quickly. “I like clubs too much, but it’s a nice change of pace. It’s… peaceful. I wasn’t expecting to find peace.” 

“It’s only ‘cause we’re not near anybody,” Sukuna says, looking up from his sore thighs to the washing happening down the creek. It is going fast, the two of them are making their way through the sack easily. “Bet the town nearby is goin’ crazy.” 

“You don’t think they’re all getting along?” You ask softly. 

“Nah. Not a chance,” Sukuna says. He knows fair and well that soon, they’ll be at each other’s throats. You’ll have peaches and sweetened condensed milk and be none the wiser. 

You sigh, gentle as the easy breeze through the woods. “I suppose that makes sense.” A beat. “Have you gone to town?” 

“Yeah. Uraume and I went last night.” 

“At night? That’s not safe!” 

“I can handle myself, doll,” Sukuna says. He doesn’t look, but he does reach back and pat the arm of the adirondack chair. “Uraume and me and handle ourselves.” 

You look at his hand, wide on the armrest. You reach over and pat it. 

“Right. How could I forget?” 

“You’ve got a damn fine selective memory.” 

“I have to, around you.” 

Sukuna laughs. It doesn’t sound half bad. 

vii. taste

Screaming. You startle awake, and it’s quiet. It’s dark. Heart thumping, you reach for Sukuna to your side, but he’s not there. His side of the bed is empty. Empty and cold. 

Had you been dreaming? Possibly. You sit there, straining your ear to see if you can hear the screaming again. You’re pretty far out in the country, you’ve heard stories of screaming happening outside to lure women away from their homes. But normally that’s a baby crying, right? Right? 

Then there’s the supernatural stories you’ve heard– sleeping at your grandmother’s house deep in Appalachia and hearing strange things outside your window that she attributed to whistlings and empty rocking chairs. 

You press your fingers to your lips and listen. You listen for what feels like hours. There’s nothing after that– and that’s almost more worrying. Nature is so silent…

The back door to the house opens and closes. That’s Sukuna, walking through the house. He has a heavier footstep on his right side. Then, the shower turns on. 

Slipping back down, you continue to listen to him as he showers, as the water turns on and off. It must be pitch black in there, unless he has one of those lanterns. Then, the back door is opening and closing again. There are no footsteps– Toji. Must be Toji, he moves so quietly through his house. 

The door to your bedroom creaks open and Sukuna climbs back in bed beside you, only in his boxers. You can tell because he wraps his arms around you, like he does every night. His chest presses to your back. 

He falls back asleep before you do. If he had noticed you were awake, he didn’t say anything. Eventually, his breathing lulls you back to a light slumber.