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Ryoumen Sukuna - Blog Posts
✧｡٩(ˊᗜˋ )و✧*｡ I need him to put me in a headlock so bad need him to make me feel weightless ✧｡٩(ˊᗜˋ )و✧*｡
something i catch myself staring at for longer than i should:
Nobara Kugisaki with tattoos similar to Sukuna👀
Trying to get better with female anatomy, it's working, I think, but slowly🥲✌️(although I'm loving how my rendering is turning out👀 im happy that hard work is finally paying off🥲🙏)
The one who controls the monster.
Lighting practice (this took my soul🥲)
I may have fallen back into the Gods & Goddesses rabbit hole once again, but this time with JJK and NoKuna🥲 so! Here's Goddess of Love and Beauty Nobara with God of War and Wrath Sukuna as a result!
(Edit: forgot to mention, Pose found on Pinterest)
ᱬ ࣪𖤐 final thoughts of rockstar fiancé! sukuna - leaving the content of this one a surprise!
final continuation of rockstar! sukuna thoughts.
ageless/minors dni. 18+ content below. not limited to fingering, p in v, implied multiple rounds. f! reader.
as always, reblogs/likes are always appreciated! enjoy! ᱬ ࣪𖤐
part 3 word count: 2,544 | series word count: 4,975
links: jjk masterlist | masterlist | part 1 | part 2
rockstar fiancé! sukuna who’s become softer thanks to the time he spent with you. of course he’d only show his softer side when you’re around or when he thinks no one’s looking cause no one would ever catch him being soft and get away with it.
rockstar fiancé! sukuna who watches you throw yourself headfirst into wedding planning. everything has to be perfect and what you had planned, even he was surprised but couldn’t help but smile because it was so you and who was he to stop you?
rockstar fiancé! sukuna who’s stopped planning tours and being in the studio because you’re both so close to being married. nothing and no one was going to take him away from the final moments before you’re both stuck with the other for the rest of your lives.
rockstar fiancé! sukuna who’s more aware of the paparazzi presence when you’re both out and about that’s he takes it upon himself to make sure they’re not able to get any photos of you both. he’ll take any measures to make damn sure of that. wearing the same clothes as past times? check. anti-paparazzi clothing? check.
rockstar fiancé! sukuna who is completely lost when it comes to suit shopping. who knew that shopping for something that he’d wear on one of the biggest days of his life was so damn hard? he had to drag his nephew, football player! yuji, with him just to help him pick something out.
rockstar fiancé! sukuna who helps you with the final touches of the intimate wedding you’ve planned, it’s not that you don’t want your fans to know you’re married, but it’s because you’ve got an idea in mind to let them know once you’ve spent some time together once the wedding is over.
rockstar fiancé! sukuna who, on his stag night, keeps an eye on what he drinks because he wants to return to you in one piece and not end up tied to the lamppost like he keeps seeing while about. let’s face it though, no one would ever try, football player! yuji got close but he slipped away at the last second.
rockstar fiancé! sukuna who checks his phone to see if you messaged him while out on your hen night, seeing the odd text from your best friend/bandmate who keeps him updated on how you’re doing - totally not dropping you in it when they tell him you’ve sobbed for half an hour because you’re drunk and you miss him.
rockstar fiancé! sukuna who’s teases you about that night for a few days afterwards, much to his amusement and your embarrassment. of course you know he means it out of love so you let him off for now. you’d get your own back on him soon enough.
rockstar fiancé! sukuna who’s posting, almost daily, photos of you two to his own personal insta, capturing moments that he loves the most of you, of you counting down the days until you’re both married.
rockstar fiancé! sukuna who, on the night before you’re meant to spend time away from him, goes all out with snacks, a takeaway and your favourite show just so he can help calm not only your nerves but his as well - people would think he’d spend that night ruining you but he’ll save that for the wedding night. after all, his soon-to-be wife needs all her strength.
rockstar fiancé! sukuna who, after saying goodbye to you the day after, spends most of the time sending random texts to you - photos he sees, videos/posts he likes, because you’re sure to like them and not because the idiot misses having you with him. he feels like you’re off touring again.
rockstar fiancé! sukuna who, when it finally arrives to the day he’s going to marry you is a bag of nerves - the way he felt when he asked you out or to marry him pales in comparison to how he feels right now. hell, he’ll even take being on stage for the first time over this feeling right now. he honestly feels like he could throw up.
rockstar fiancé! sukuna who fiddles with his fingers while he stares towards the back of the church, not daring to turn around for fear that he might pass out. was it too hot in here all of a sudden?
rockstar fiancé! sukuna who bites his lips before letting out a breath as he turns around the moment he hears the music play as you walk down the aisle. he swears he’s forgotten how to breathe at the sight of you. you’re a picture of beauty and he can’t believe you’re about to be his wife in a matter of moments. is someone cutting onions in here?
rockstar fiancé! sukuna who becomes a stuttering mess when he’s tasked with speaking his vows, the feeling of your thumb running across his knuckles to calm him down working slowly. you had little ways of making sure he was feeling confident no matter what and this was one of them.
rockstar fiancé! sukuna who becomes rockstar husband! sukuna once the priest states he can kiss his bride. he’s never pulled you to him so quickly until now, dipping you in a loving kiss as cheers sound behind you both.
rockstar husband! sukuna who spends the entire time of the reception whispering what he’s going to do to you when he gets you alone in the honeymoon suite of the hotel you were both going back to. chuckling deeply at how you stammer and blush when you push his shoulder, offering your own giggle.
rockstar husband! sukuna who tunes everyone out when you’re both sharing your first dance together, his arms wrapped around your waist with your around his neck, mouth close to your ear as he sings along for you and only you to hear. you missed hearing him sing to you for the past month. that much so you felt the weight of the world fall off your shoulders as you closed your eyes.
rockstar husband! sukuna who’s quick to pull you away from the guests and back to the hotel room. he feels like he’s waited too damn long to be alone with you and you being in your dress, it’s not helping his thoughts of ruining you until you’re a sobbing mess.
rockstar husband! sukuna who wastes no time hiking your dress up to your hips once he’s got you bent over the bed, slipping your wedding night lingerie to the side as he sinks two fingers deep into your welcoming pussy.
rockstar husband! sukuna who, despite wanting nothing more than having you writhing beneath him, takes his time stretching out your walls enjoying the sounds you make, begging him to stop teasing you and fuck you. your warm core clenching around his digits before you feel the cold of his wedding ring against you.
rockstar husband! sukuna who soon grows impatient, leaving you whimpering for a moment before you feel his fingers being replaced by his cock, earning a moan of delight as you grip the sheets underneath you.
rockstar husband! sukuna who loves the sound of you moaning his name as you push yourself back into him, his hand coming around your neck to lift you up against his chest, his other hand coming to rest just under your navel as he pushes into you harder with each thrust. he loved the feeling of you wriggling as you tried to match his thrusts.
rockstar husband! sukuna who fucks you on every surface in the hotel room that he can, clothes scattered all over the floor much like the marks on both your bodies. he may or may not go multiple times on different surfaces.
rockstar husband! sukuna who finishes with his favourite position of all - the lotus. he loves the way he can feel closer than close to you this way, and how he can reach deeper inside you, making you lose your mind as you come on his cock, walls milking him closer to his own orgasm before he comes himself, hot seed flooding deep within you as you feel him twitching.
rockstar husband! sukuna who cuddles you closer to him when you’ve both had enough, breath returning to normal along with drumming heartbeats. his hand drawing patterns on your skin as you fall asleep, a soft smile on your face.
rockstar husband! sukuna who never thought, in a million years, he’d be laying in bed with his new wife but here he was. if somebody had told his younger self that’s where he’d be right now, he’d have laughed in their face and told them to fuck off - he was always a solo player who would never settle down, at least he had you to thank for changing that.
rockstar husband! sukuna who spends the next few weeks away on honeymoon with you, away from prying eyes, watching the way your face lights up as you both take photos and videos, posting to your personal instas for your close friends to see. comments and likes of encouragement making you both smile.
rockstar husband! sukuna who, when you’re both ready to let the rest of the world you’re married, makes sure everything’s perfect, even flying out to the only location you both know would let you pull off your plan and favourite announcement to date.
rockstar husband! sukuna who mirrors a post put up by you a day after you land and head to the chapel, making sure to capture all the moments you both needed to thanks to photographer! uraume. the polaroids were definitely the favourite part of your announcement as they had a little something extra special you wanted everyone to know.
rockstar husband! sukuna who presses post to his public insta with the photos you both decided would be best to announce to everyone you’re finally married to the infamous bad boy. “two months on and it still feels like a fever dream. here’s to having the most kick ass-wife any fucker could ask for and the best baby momma @/itsherduh - can’t wait to start the next chapter with you”. the final photo being one he took of you that showed off your slightly swollen tummy.
rockstar husband! sukuna who, like every other time, takes a candid photo of you asleep, this time with his hand on your tummy, fingers placed gently on yours and posts it to his personal insta with the caption “can’t wait for this next chapter with you, my dove”.
rockstar husband! sukuna who’s not afraid to admit he’s scared of being a dad, he didn’t have the best life growing up and he didn’t want to fail if he could help it. who slowly feels reassured the more you comfort him - he needs to not listen to his demons so much.
rockstar husband! sukuna who makes sure you’re kept a close eye on when you go back on a short tour. after all, you were in a fragile state and he wanted to make sure you were protected more than anything, especially since he found out you were pregnant with twins. little does he know that your final tour will be the one where he finds out what your twins will be. a little surprise you couldn’t wait to pull off.
rockstar husband! sukuna who watches on from the side before joining you on stage for your final performance before you step away, putting your soon-to-be family first and getting ready to welcome your twins into the world in a few short months. who finds out, thanks to not only the crowd gathered but also your band’s stage team, that your twins are a boy and a girl.
rockstar husband! sukuna who gives you the biggest kiss he could muster at that time, he was overcome with emotions and the way both the crowd cheered and you clung onto him tipped him over the edge - lifting you up into a hug as he spun you around.
rockstar husband! sukuna who starts a small tour the week after yours had ended, only to end a month later - he wanted to be as close as possible to you as you were due to give birth soon. nothing and no one else mattered to him right now.
rockstar husband! sukuna who soon becomes rockstar twin dad! sukuna when you both welcome your babies into the world. he’s never felt as much love for you as he had done right at that moment as you held the two babies close to you.
rockstar twin dad! sukuna who makes sure that not only you but the twins were kept away from prying eyes as you both adjusted to your new lives together, making sure to announce the arrival of your children to both your fan bases with a simple polaroid of you both cradling a twin - a look of pure love showing as you smiled down at the baby in your arm. “introducing the newest members of our journey together. @/itsherduh wonder woman has fuck all on you”.
rockstar twin dad! sukuna who posts another photo to his personal insta again, this time showing you with your hair in a messy bun, his hoodie on and you cuddle your twins, a loving smile on your face. “you may think you look like shit, but your the most beautiful woman i’ve ever laid eyes on. thank you for blessing me, my dove”.
rockstar twin dad! sukuna who, despite your protests that you’re a mess and he’d be better off finding someone who’s prettier because you’re disgusting, refuses to leave your side. sure your body may have changed thanks to carrying his children but he’d be damned if you think he’s going to be in the arms of someone else.
rockstar twin dad! sukuna who helps you through your moments of self-doubt when it comes to what you’re doing for not only the twins but how you feel about yourself. who spends time showering you with love and affection, wiping tears of self-doubt away as he holds you in his arms.
rockstar twin dad! sukuna who reminds you daily, hell hourly if needed, that he loves you regardless of how you look, that you’re more beautiful to him because of what you’ve gone through. who, when you’re pinned beneath him in the throes of pleasure as he makes love to you, takes his time to kiss your stretch marks and whisper how they make you look more gorgeous than ever.
rockstar! sukuna who ultimately never thought he’d be where he was, with a wife and twins playing happy families. who looks at you with so much love and devotion when you’re around him. who loves his twins more than life itself. who’ll show you all off and spoil you all rotten at every given opportunity.
rockstar! sukuna who thanks whatever divine being out there for letting him be the one who stole your heart, and vice versa, from the moment you saw each other backstage at your concert all the time ago. for being the one you fell deeper in love with and for being the one who he can spend the rest of his life with.
© springismss 2025 - don’t repost, copy, translate, steal or modify.
ᱬ ࣪𖤐 more thoughts of rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who may or may not end up becoming rockstar fiancé! sukuna.
continuation of rockstar! sukuna thoughts.
ageless/minors dni. 18+ content scattered below. not limited to p in v, video sex, generalised nsfw. f! reader.
as always, reblogs/likes are always appreciated! enjoy! ᱬ ࣪𖤐
part 2 word count: 1,209 | series word count: 4,975
links: jjk masterlist | masterlist | part 1 | part 3
rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who, at every given opportunity, will use samples of you in his music - voice, video, photos? all check. after all, he wants to show you off to the world - especially with photos that leave little to the imagination while protecting your dignity.
rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who has a space for you on his tour bus and vice versa. fuck what his bandmates had to say, he wanted you beside him whenever one of you wasn’t touring.
rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who at every given opportunity will take photos and videos of you, be that of you writing your band's next hit song or when the two of you are cuddled up in bed after fucking, and every moment in between.
rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who, while fucking you in the nastiest positions you could imagine, marks you in a way he knows everyone out there will see. the thought of everyone seeing exactly who you belong to gets him off.
rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who spends more time backstage at your concerts, that much so that it would be considered weird if he wasn’t dating you. not that he would care what those losers would say, he could do whatever the fuck he wanted.
rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who doesn’t show it but he misses you so goddamn much whenever you’re both touring at the same time. he hates spending time apart from you, everything feels so empty.
rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who makes the most of the private album he has on his phone in times like that. an album that’s full of the most dirty pictures and videos of you. that one picture of you looking completely fucked out after he had you in a mating press? that video of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy at an alarming rate? that audio of you moaning out his name as you begged him to let you come? he’s got those and more. after all, he needs to make sure he remembers you in every way possible.
rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who will occasionally video call you when he’s keeping himself busy just so he can see your reaction when he moans out your name, growling that he’ll be back soon enough and you can make up for all the lost time he’s had to use his hand to pump his cock.
rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who also video calls you when you’re both touring so he can keep you company when you’re feeling a little down being in another country to him. who lets you fall asleep while on call as he knows it’s the only way you’ll get a good sleep and wake up feeling more refreshed. he’s counting down the days until you're back home.
rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who’s waiting for you at the airport for your band to land when your tour finally ended. he said it was purely so he could keep the paparazzi off you but in reality, he wanted to be the first person you saw when you stepped through the doors. big smile on your face as you wrap your arms around him, whispers of how much you've missed him making him smile softly.
rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who, despite your protests, takes you out for a meal that night, being sure to wine and dine you because he missed the fuck out of you. who’s also buttering you up so he can be head first and cock first in between your legs when he gets you back through the front door of his apartment.
rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who might look like someone who doesn’t even know the meaning of the word soft but clearly he does, especially when he has you pinned down under him, thrusts into you soft and slow despite wanting to ruin you again. soft kisses and words as he silences you with kisses. after all, you need to rest your voice after such a long tour. you'll be the only one who will see this side of him, no one else and you love it as much as you love him.
rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who, despite never thinking he’d ever find someone to love cause he truly believed the whole thing was bullshit, cuddles your closer to him, not wanting to let you go. arms wrapped around you and hand stroking your hair as you rested your hand on his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heart, possibly inspiring a new song knowing you.
rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who has to make sure everything is perfect, not being on the stage while planning something this big made him more nervous than he expected. give him a big audience and his bad-boy persona - that was a walk in the park compared to this.
rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who waits for you to come back from shopping before you head over to his place, helping you make some food before you both sit down on the sofa with a notebook in your hand. ideas bouncing off each other as his leg bounced in anxiety. he had to pick the right time.
rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who, at the moment you ask him what should go in this verses last line, blurts out “you gonna marry me or what woman?” before taking in your bewildered expression, eyes wide.
rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who’s suddenly become full blown nervous as he looks at you, throat drying up and heart pounding so erratically it could burst from his chest. who feels like the seconds have begun to drag as he waits for you to respond, that’s if you ever did.
rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who, for probably the first time in his life, becomes deflated and quickly removes his hand from his pocket trying to distract himself, not paying attention to the huge smile on your face before you’re pouncing on top of him with a laugh, arms wrapping around him and you muttered back “I think the new line of the chorus should be of course i’ll marry you, you fucking idiot”.
rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who looks at you confused as you smile brightly, cupping his face and placing a hard kiss on his lips. who’s still as confused as you pull back, thumb rubbing his cheek as you hum out a quick “i said of course i’ll marry you”.
rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who becomes rockstar fiancé! sukuna when he finally slips the ring onto your finger, taking a moment to admire the fact you’re one step closer to not only being with him for the rest of your lives but taking his name as yours.
rockstar fiancé! sukuna who, a few days later, posts to his public insta account for the first time in a good few months, with a photo of you and him, hands up showing off the ring you wore while doing your signature poses with your other hand. “who wouldn’t say no to me? future mrs r.s. coming soon @/itsherduh”.
rockstar fiancé! sukuna who smirks at the comments that ping through his phone as he glances over to you lying on the bed, snapping a quick photo, this one being posted to his private insta this time with the caption “here’s to the rest of eternity together, my dove”.
© springismss 2025 - don’t repost, copy, translate, steal or modify.
ᱬ ࣪𖤐 thoughts of rockstar! sukuna turning into rockstar boyfriend! sukuna.
had this thought while listening to v.a.n earlier when working.
general swearing but this part is sfw.
f! reader. as always, reblogs/likes are always appreciated! enjoy ᱬ ࣪𖤐
part 1 word count: 1,222 | series word count: 4,975
links: jjk masterlist | masterlist | part 2 | part 3
rockstar! sukuna who stood pouting like a child with his arms folded, not caring to listen to what his bandmate had to say about the tickets currently being waved in his hand.
rockstar! sukuna who’s currently standing backstage at a concert for a new and upcoming band, one that shouldn’t have that many fans but judging by the crowd that was still gathering, he was wrong.
rockstar! sukuna who’s still tuning out his bandmate when they chatter on about how they got the passes thanks to connections and this new band was going to make it big, all thanks to the main star - their lead singer.
rockstar! sukuna who’s now paying attention to what’s said once he hears that the lead singer is a girl. things have just gotten interesting, it was rare to have a female in such a male-dominated space, he had to see this for himself.
rockstar! sukuna who’s not impressed when he first sees you walking past his group. you looked so shy and meek while quickly offering a “hello” and a wave. clearly the idiot was mistaken when he was yapping earlier.
rockstar! sukuna who’s eating his words soon after when he hears the sounds that come out once you open your mouth after getting the crowd going. the singing, the screaming, the growling? you were far from meek.
rockstar! sukuna who watches you carefully, the way you jump around the stage, the bright smile on your face as you enjoy the buzz around you as you continue to perform for your fans - a buzz he understands all too well.
rockstar! sukuna who finds himself tapping his foot to some of the songs your band plays, it’s totally because he’s a musician and not because he’s starting to enjoy himself.
rockstar! sukuna who finds himself clapping along with his bandmates once your set ends and the lights come back on, watching the bodies on the stage filter backstage again. the look of pure joy on your face is cute. wait did he actually think that?
rockstar! sukuna who offers a grunt when you finally take the time to talk to the group, offering a thanks for coming and watching. who doesn’t miss the way you tilt your head and smirk at him before turning your attention to his bassist. he’d strangle the fucker if he tried anything.
rockstar! sukuna who follows behind the big group back to the dressing room for a drink because, let’s face it, it’s the least you could do to thank them for coming along even when they didn’t have to.
rockstar! sukuna who finds himself alone on a couch before you plopped yourself down, offering another drink before leaning back, talking away to yourself about something he couldn’t quite hear.
rockstar! sukuna who leaves an hour or so later with the rest of his band, not before he had your personal contact details and socials in his phone - after all, he might fancy a collab one day with you.
rockstar! sukuna who turns into fanboy! sukuna for a while when he gets home, hopelessly stalking your insta to get a glimpse into your life. who found himself smirking at the picture of you and your new puppy you’d posted a day before he met you, double tapping to lock in that like. of course, it would be from his own private and personal insta and only a few special people would have that account.
rockstar! sukuna who, one night, in his semi-drunk state, might have sent you a message detailing what he would do to you if he had you alone and you were his. not caring that he was being too out there, cause fuck that shit, life is for living right?
rockstar! sukuna who nearly drops his phone at the message you sent back to him, who knew you kinda enjoyed stranger danger? he was way in over his head but he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.
rockstar! sukuna who attended quite a few more of your shows after that message, thanks to bagging backstage passes from you much to his delight, not that he cared to admit that. he did have a tough guy image to uphold after all.
rockstar! sukuna who spent more time talking to you via dms before moving to texts - after all, he was adamant that arranging a collab would be easier that way, not that he wanted a more personal way to talk to you.
rockstar! sukuna who starts adding lyrics that have to do with love and crushes into his future songs, much to the amusement of his bandmates and fans, some loved the subtle changes while others hated it.
rockstar! sukuna who ends up inviting you into the studio to talk ideas and start his band's next single with your help and vocals. he was sure it would be a hit, plus he wanted to spend more time with you outside of the bands. not that he would ever care to admit that to you.
rockstar! sukuna who suddenly feels like a teenager all over again when you get closer to him, lingering touches and looks making his heart thump in his chest - he was a performer yet this is what caused him to grow clammy?
rockstar! sukuna who ends up relaxing on the sofa in the room, you sat in his lap as you hummed out a tune, jotting it down. enjoying your weight on top of him, even if it wasn’t how he’d usually like it.
rockstar! sukuna who grows bored after a while and pulls his phone out, only for you to grab it and take a selfie with him, placing a kiss on his cheek as you capture the pure bewilderment on his face. just a little something to remind him of you when all of this ended.
rockstar! sukuna who starts to find new ways of hanging out with you, when not working on a track together - may have guilt-tripped you into letting him meet your puppy because who couldn’t resist his bad boy charm?
rockstar! sukuna who ended up becoming rockstar boyfriend! sukuna before too long, proudly showing you off to the world the night after you agreed to be his, when the new song debuted and you appeared on stage, taking your place beside him with a cheerful wave to the roaring crowd.
rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who pulls you into him in front of the sold-out arena, planting a wanting deep kiss onto your lips before pulling away, smirking at the dazed look before announcing that you were both together, and everyone better get used to it before the combined roar of the crowd and his band kicked up, the two of you performing the song you’d created together.
rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who now uses every opportunity to show you off to the world as the girlfriend of the man who didn’t want to be seen with anyone else - may or may not have went on quite a few photo dumps on his personal insta with photos of you both and what you were up to in between performing and recording.
let’s not talk about the other folder he has on his phone of pictures of you and the two of you together just yet yeah?
permanent tags;
@ani-net
© springismss 2025 - don’t repost, copy, translate, steal or modify.
Rockstar! Sukuna who met you in school and quickly developed a soft spot for you.
Rockstar! Sukuna who loses contact with you for a couple of years, too busy making it big to care
Rockstar! Sukuna who sees you at one of his concerts, right in the front row staring watching him as though he were a god among mortals
Rockstar! Sukuna who brings you backstage under the guise of wanting to catch up
Rockstar! Sukuna who now has you bent over, elbows resting on an amp as he thrusts into you at what feels like an inhumane pace
Rockstar! Sukuna who refuses to let you go after your backstage rendezvous
Let´s go Sukuna!
paneles editados por: @_sneez__ en twitter.
soft!sukuna who holds you after his fight with gojo and rocks you back and forth while you cry, muttering small "i love you"s and "im here"s.
he gently brushes your hair with his hand and presses a kiss to your earlobe. his eyes closed as he continued to embrace your shaking figure.
he hugs you tighter as you sniffle and whisper a small "thought i was g'nna lose y'..." into his shoulder. "but you didnt loose me. as long as your here waiting for me, ill always win."
soft!sukuna who stays with you, even as you calmed down. he carefully pushes you back against the bed and lets you cuddle up to him. his hand finds one of your own, intertwining his fingers with yours and smiling at you.
his heart thumps in his chest as he sees you smile back at him, nuzzling your foreheads together. he pulls you closer as your eyes shut and kisses your forehead while saying good night to you.
soft!sukuna who watches as you succumb to sleep and decides he'll never leave your side again.
~
masterlist
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created by sunnywrotethis☆
2025
do not repost without permission, reblogs are okay
shut up gyaru gojo x grunge sukuna is canon
<3
Your Violence Reminded Me of Home :
They send you in after the damage is already done.
You’re not a hero. You’re what comes after.
The body bag. The Suture. The ghost that cleans up after gods.
You were trained to fix what can’t be fixed.
To close wounds that were never meant to be opened.
To make dying quieter.
And that’s when he noticed you.
Not because you were brave.
Not because you were powerful.
But because you never flinched.
Even when he stood over you, soaked in someone else’s blood, smiling like he was born to ruin.
You didn’t look away.
That’s what got under his skin.
That’s what kept him coming back.
-----
You didn’t speak to him with reverence. You spoke to him like someone who'd seen too much to be impressed anymore.
“Move,” you said once, knee-deep in what used to be someone’s liver. “Unless you’re going to help.”
He tilted his head like a dog hearing thunder.
“You’re awfully calm for someone standing in a massacre.”
“It’s Tuesday,” you said.
-----
You were the kind of person the world forgets until it needs you.
Invisible until someone starts bleeding.
And maybe that’s what made him stay.
You never looked at him like he was legend or apocalypse. You looked at him like he was inconvenient.
That kind of irreverence should have made him crush you.
Instead, he lingered.
-----
The first time he watched you lose someone, you didn’t cry.
You didn’t scream. You didn’t pray.
You just pressed your hand to the boy’s cooling chest and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Not to the gods.
To him.
He saw the way your shoulders locked, the way you didn’t breathe for a full minute. Like maybe if you didn’t move, you wouldn’t feel it.
You didn’t notice him watching.
He didn’t speak.
But later, you found the curse responsible strung from a tree, head twisted the wrong way.
It had taken you three hours to get there. Sukuna must’ve gotten there in two.
-----
You weren’t kind to him. That’s not what this is.
You were honest.
He once asked, casually, why you didn’t run like the others.
“Because I’ve spent my whole life cleaning up after men who think violence is the only language worth speaking.”
“You think I’m just another man?” he said, voice sharp.
“No,” you replied. “I think you used to be.”
-----
And that haunted him.
Because he’d burned down whole cities just to forget that—
-----
The first time he touched you, you were bandaging his side. A jagged gash from something that didn’t know better.
You didn’t ask why he didn’t heal it himself.
He didn’t ask why your hands shook a little.
But when your knuckles brushed his ribs, he stilled.
Not because it hurt.
Because it didn’t.
And that scared him more.
You didn’t make him human.
You reminded him he still was.
That was worse.
-----
He started showing up more. Missions you weren’t supposed to survive. Places no one should be. You’d find him in the aftermath, leaning against rubble, watching you with that same expressionless violence in his gaze.
Sometimes he asked questions.
“Do you believe in saving people?”
“Not anymore.”
“Why still try?”
“Because someone has to.”
“You always do things that don’t work?”
“I stayed talking to you, didn’t I?”
He laughed. It sounded like breaking glass.
-----
It was never romantic.
But God, it was intimate.
The kind of intimacy that doesn’t look like love.
It looks like two people who can’t lie to each other anymore.
-----
You started dreaming about him.
Not in soft ways.
In recognition ways.
His voice in the dark. His blood on your hands.
Your name in his mouth like a secret he hates knowing.
It wasn’t love.
It was something older.
Like grief. Like guilt. Like home.
-----
One night, you asked him something you’d never dared to ask anyone.
“Do you think people like us get better?”
He didn’t answer for a long time.
“No,” he said eventually. “But sometimes we get understood.”
You nodded.
You didn’t speak again for hours.
He didn’t leave.
-----
You told yourself it wasn’t connection. Just mutual ruin. Two broken things orbiting the same grave.
But then you got hurt. Badly.
And he lost his mind.
Not loudly. Not with roars.
Just with silence.
The kind that feels like a closing door—
When you woke up in a makeshift shelter, your wounds stitched with unnatural precision, he was already gone.
But outside the door, you saw what he left:
A trail of bodies. Eyes gouged. Faces melted. Blood spelling out a name.
Yours.
-----
You didn’t thank him.
You never did.
But the next time he appeared beside you, you didn’t ask why.
You just said, “You’re late.”
And he replied, “You’re alive.”
-----
You don’t belong together. You know this. You knew it from the start.
He is the myth that devours the world.
And you? You’re the woman who keeps trying to tape it back together.
But sometimes he sits close enough for your knees to touch, and doesn’t flinch.
Sometimes you reach for the same gauze at the same time, and your fingers linger.
Sometimes, you both exist in the same silence.
And it feels like the closest either of you has ever come to peace.
-----
He once told you that your eyes made him feel guilty.
You said, “Good.”
-----
You never tell him you love him.
But once, while half-conscious, he whispered:
“You’re the only thing I’ve ever seen that wasn’t ugly.”
You never bring it up again.
But you remember.
-----
You won’t survive this.
He might.
But not you.
And he knows it.
And that’s the tragedy.
Because for the first time in his life, he doesn’t want to win.
He wants to keep.
And the world doesn’t let men like him keep people like you.
---
But for now—
You sit in the rubble.
He watches you patch another dying sorcerer together with trembling hands and exhausted breath.
And he thinks:
Your violence reminded me of home.
But your silence reminded me of being known.
And he hates you for it.
And he keeps coming back anyway.
-----
He Would Let You Live :
If Ryomen Sukuna were ever to love someone—
truly, terribly, without the mask of power or cruelty—it would be a slow undoing. A ruin of a ruin. A tragedy wrapped in something like warmth, but not quite. Love, for him, could never be soft. It would come with claws. It would come limping, feral, and afraid.
And he wouldn’t call it love.
Because naming it would make it real, and real things can be lost.
He has always known how to keep power. To hold it in his palm like a pulse he can squeeze. But love—love would be the one thing he couldn’t crush without feeling it bleed through his fingers. And that would drive him mad.
It would start in silence. Not the silence of peace, but the silence of awareness. Of you existing in his world like a candle in a slaughterhouse. Not asking to be saved. Just… being. Alive. Stubborn. Unafraid.
You would look at him like he wasn’t a god, wasn’t a monster, wasn’t anything to worship or destroy.
And that would be the first sin.
-----
Sukuna doesn’t understand kindness.
He recognizes it—like one recognizes a dead language. He sees it in the way people reach for each other, beg for mercy, cradle each other’s names in the dark. It confuses him. Makes him restless.
He would hate you for being kind to him. For seeing past the fangs and calling what’s beneath it human.
“You think I’m something to fix?” he would sneer, the way you might snarl at a mirror that showed you too clearly. “Don’t mistake survival for softness.”
But it wouldn’t matter. You wouldn’t try to fix him. You wouldn’t offer him redemption like a leash. You’d simply see him—and refuse to look away.
And Sukuna—undone, ugly, blood-soaked Sukuna—would find that unbearable.
-----
He wouldn’t know how to be gentle.
Not with hands that have only ever broken, gripped, ripped things from bone.
Not with a mouth that speaks in the language of threat and irony.
So he’d love you the only way he knows how: with fear, with possession, with distance. He’d guard you like a secret. Watch you from shadows. Kill for you without you ever knowing your life was threatened. Tear down whole cities just to make sure the wind didn’t reach your throat wrong.
And then deny it. Always deny it.
“You think you matter to me?” he’d say, voice low and too careful. “You’re just amusing. That’s all.”
But his eyes would betray him. They always do.
They’d hold something ancient.
Something awful.
Something that wants to kneel before you and call it hate because “love” would burn too hot.
-----
He’d love you like a curse.
Like a habit he couldn’t kill. He’d resent you for being the one thing in this godless world that made him hesitate. That made him think. And in his hesitation, he’d find something that felt like fear.
Not the fear of loss.
But the fear of what he might become if he didn’t lose you.
Because if you stayed—if you truly stayed—he might have to believe he was more than a monster.
And he’s not sure he wants to be.
-----
When he touched you, it would not be tender.
Not at first.
It would be rough. Unsure. Like someone holding fire and expecting to be burned. His hands would shake—not visibly, no, never—but something beneath the skin would tremble. As if the act of touching something without destroying it is the hardest thing he’s ever done.
And it would be.
Because Sukuna has never known love that didn’t come with screams.
To want to protect instead of possess—that is foreign to him. A new tongue. One he’s too old and too ruined to speak fluently. But he would try. Quietly. Without asking you to notice.
You’d find food you didn’t cook. You’d wake with the blood of your enemies dried at your doorstep. You’d feel eyes in the dark—watching, waiting—not as a threat, but as a promise.
He would never say “I love you.”
But he would let you live.
And in his world, that is the highest act of grace.
-----
There would be irony in it.
That the King of Curses—the butcher of centuries, the calamity of heaven—would fall not in battle, not in rage, but in devotion.
Slow. Terrifying. Sacred.
He would never beg for you. But he would remember your silence like scripture. He would trace your voice in the air after you left a room. He would hate everyone who made you smile—because he doesn't know how to be the reason.
He doesn’t know how to be good.
But he’d want to be better. Not for the world. Never for the world.
Only for you.
Because you never asked him to be.
And that’s the part that would kill him.
-----
If you ever walked away—he wouldn’t stop you.
He’d let you go.
And then he’d rip apart the world in your absence.
Not because you were his.
But because without you, he fears he’d forget how to be almost*human.
-----
So no. Sukuna wouldn’t write you poems.
He wouldn’t tell you you’re beautiful.
He wouldn’t beg for your touch, or whisper your name in sleep.
He’d carry you like a wound he refuses to heal.
He’d make the world burn quieter so you could breathe.
He’d say “you’re alive, aren’t you?” when asked if he loves you.
And maybe—maybe—that would be enough.
Maybe that’s love, in his language.
Maybe, in a world where everything bleeds,
letting you live is the greatest confession he will ever make.
-----
Gate, Gate—
(gone, gone beyond)
They brought him to the temple like people leave things at riverbanks.
A last attempt. A gentle abandonment dressed in incense.
“He has something wrong in him,” the mother whispered.
Or maybe it was the aunt.
Or maybe no one said anything at all. Maybe they just looked.
The monks accepted him like they accepted stray dogs and dying birds.
With open hands and quiet eyes.
He was six. Or seven. Thin. Quiet.
Too quiet.
He didn’t cry when they shaved his head.
Didn’t flinch when they poured the cold water down his spine.
He just stared at the stone floor like it had spoken to him in a language no one else could hear.
-----
The temple was kind. In theory.
They rose at dawn, washed in silence, chanted in circles.
Everything smelled of sandalwood and routine.
Things were clean here. Predictable.
But Sukuna?
He was not a creature of clean things.
He learned fast. Too fast.
By the second week, he was sitting longer in meditation than boys twice his age.
By the third, he had the Heart Sutra memorized.
By the fourth, he could mimic the chants with a tone so exact it felt mocking.
Not cruel—just empty.
One of the older monks said, “He’s gifted.”
Another muttered, “He’s hollow.”
(Both were right.)
-----
They named him Reien. (Distant Flame.)
He never used it.
When called, he looked up slowly, like surfacing from somewhere deeper.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t play.
Didn’t cry when the others whispered things like witch-child or thing with teeth.
He once told another boy during chores,
“I think people hope temples make monsters polite.”
The boy blinked.
Sukuna shrugged, soft and almost gentle.
“But I was never rude. Just honest.”
-----
The monks thought perhaps routine would save him.
Structure. Compassion. Years of stillness pressed into his ribs until something softened.
But it never did.
He lit the incense with perfect fingers, poured tea without spilling a drop.
He knelt so still he looked like a statue left behind by an older god.
And when he whispered the sutras?
They sounded like elegies.
Like grief recited backward.
-----
There was one monk.
Old.
Kind.
Tired in the way that made you trust him.
He brought Sukuna extra rice on cold mornings.
Helped him adjust his robes when no one else would get too close.
Once, he said,
“You remind me of a bell before it rings.”
Sukuna looked up.
“You’re waiting for something,” the monk said. “I don’t know what. But I hope it’s peace.”
Sukuna didn’t answer. But later that night, he buried the monk’s prayer beads under the snow.
Not out of malice.
He just didn’t want anyone to believe too much in rescue.
-----
Years passed.
Sukuna grew. Not into someone better. Just someone more.
More silent. More watchful.
His eyes started to scare people.
He never raised his voice.
Never raised a hand.
But once, when a boy shoved him during chores, Sukuna whispered something into the boy’s ear.
No one knows what was said.
But the boy never spoke again.
-----
Sometimes he would sit under the Bodhi tree at night, alone.
Whispering pieces of chants.
Not the full sutras. Just fragments. Broken syllables that didn’t fit together.
“Form is emptiness…” he’d murmur.
“…emptiness is form.”
Then laugh to himself, soft and cruel and tired.
It wasn’t joy. It wasn’t madness.
It was a boy telling a joke no one else understood.
-----
Once, a traveling girl came with her father, a rice merchant.
She sat beside him at lunch and offered him a peach.
He stared at her.
“You don’t talk much,” she said.
He blinked.
“Are you sad?” she asked.
He didn’t answer. Just took the peach and held it like a thing he’d never earned.
She grinned. “I think you’re pretending to be a monk.”
That night, he didn’t sleep.
He just stared at the peach pit in his hand for hours, wondering why it made him feel anything at all.
She never came back.
And that was the first time he realized—
Even kindness leaves.
-----
The breaking didn’t happen all at once.
Not like a sword through the ribs.
More like water over stone.
Small cracks.
Soft erosion.
A boy watching compassion become something quiet and useless.
-----
One winter, he found a bird dying in the courtyard.
It was shaking. Mouth open. Tiny heart fighting too hard.
He sat with it for an hour. Just watching.
Didn’t touch it.
Didn’t help.
Didn’t look away.
When it stopped breathing, he buried it with his bare hands.
And whispered the full Heart Sutra over its grave.
The first and only time he ever said it with feeling.
-----
Later, when the elder monk was dying from fever, Sukuna sat beside him.
The monk wheezed, clinging to prayer beads with pale hands.
He said, “Do you believe in rebirth?”
Sukuna stared.
“Maybe you’ll come back as something… softer.”
Sukuna leaned in, voice gentle and cruel:
“This is my second life. I think I was something softer before.”
(The monk wept.)
-----
He left soon after.
No one remembers how.
Some say he disappeared into the snow.
Some say the temple doors opened and never closed again.
Some say he burned it all.
But here’s what’s true:
He carried the chants with him.
Not because he believed.
But because belief was the first lie anyone ever told him.
-----
And now?
Now he walks like a God who doesn’t want worship.
Kills like someone remembering something ancient.
Speaks in riddles and old truths.
Sometimes, before a battle, when the wind is just right,
he mumbles a chant to himself :
“Gate, gate, pāragate…”
Gone. Gone. Gone beyond.
He always pauses after that.
Not out of reverence.
Out of memory.
Out of the sound of snow falling on temple roofs.
Out of the soft weight of a peach in his hand.
Out of the silence after a dying bird stops shaking.
He doesn’t say the last line.
Not anymore.
Because it was never for him.
And he knows, with a kind of terrible peace:
Not everything is meant to be saved.
-----
Greetings, Dreamers and Readers ✨🌸
I don’t think I meant to make this version of Sukuna. It just… happened. I kept circling this quiet idea of a boy left at a temple like an afterthought—like maybe someone thought peace could be taught into him, like sutras could smooth out what was already unraveling inside.
This isn’t about battles or glory or blood. It’s about stillness. About a boy who memorized all the sacred words but none of them saved him. About silence, routine, ritual. About being watched, studied, never understood.
I didn’t want him to be tragic in a loud, dramatic way. I wanted the ache to be quiet. Familiar. Like bruises you don’t notice until someone touches them.
There’s something that haunts me about characters who know how to sit still but not how to be comforted. Who learn everything except how to ask for help. Who are full of language but empty of meaning. I think some part of me understands them too well.
So yeah… this version of Sukuna? He’s not softer. He’s just more human in a way that hurts.
---
Anyway. If you made it this far, thank you. Feel free to comment and share your thoughts—I’d love to hear your opinions. You guys always see things I missed.
✨ Bye and take care, hope you all have a good day ✨
The Monster That Purrs :
Sukuna has spent a thousand years learning how not to be human.
That is what the world expects of him. That is what the world made him.
A man who became a myth. A myth that became a monster. A name that people still whisper like a curse, like a prayer, like something they are too afraid to summon.
And what is a violence if not the absence of everything soft?
Sukuna is rage and ruin, destruction woven into the fabric of his being. There is no place for tenderness in his body, no home for kindness beneath the weight of his legend. Whatever he was before, whatever warmth might have once lingered in the hollow space between his ribs, has long since turned to rot.
And yet.
When the world is quiet—truly quiet—his body betrays him.
It happens without his permission, like an instinct long buried, like muscle memory from a life he no longer claims.
A sound. A hum, low and deep, vibrating in his chest.
Not quite a growl.
Not quite a sigh.
Something in between. Something dangerous.
Because it is something alive.
Something human.
And if anyone hears it, if anyone dares to notice—he will rip their throat out before the thought can fully form.
It is better this way.
It has always been better this way.
Until you.
***
It is late when you first notice it.
The fire in the room has burned down to embers, casting the walls in flickering shadows. You are pressed close to him, not because you are foolish enough to think he needs warmth, but because your body, unlike his, still listens to instinct.
The silence between you is easy. Not because he is kind, not because you are unafraid, but because something unspoken has settled between you.
For once, he does not have to perform.
For once, he does not have to be the villain in someone else’s story.
For once, he is simply here.
And in that moment, in the stillness of it, his body reacts before his mind can catch up.
The hum slips out—deep, steady, unwavering.
You feel it before you hear it. The vibration against your skin, the way it rumbles through his chest like something meant to be there, like something that belongs.
You blink. Your lips part slightly, and before common sense can stop you, the words are already leaving your mouth—
“…Are you purring?”
Sukuna stills.
For a fraction of a second, there is nothing. No breath, no movement, no shift in his body.
And then, like a storm breaking, the warmth vanishes.
The air changes.
He turns his head, slow and deliberate, his crimson eyes gleaming in the dim light. His expression is unreadable, a mask of cold amusement stretched over something darker.
"Say that again," he murmurs, voice quiet. Too quiet.
The kind of quiet that warns of something sharp waiting beneath the surface.
Your heartbeat stutters.
A normal person would backpedal. A smart person would apologize, pretend they never heard it, let it slip into the silence between you and never bring it up again.
But you are not normal.
And you have never been particularly smart when it comes to him.
So instead of looking away, instead of swallowing your words, you do something infinitely more dangerous.
You smile.
“You were purring.”
It is immediate.
One moment, you are lying beside him. The next, you are beneath him, wrists pinned above your head, his weight pressing you into the futon.
The air crackles between you, thick enough to drown in.
His claws rest against your throat, his grin all teeth, all venom, all warning.
“Say another word,” he purrs—actually purrs, just to mock you, just to remind you who you are playing with—“and I’ll carve out that sharp little tongue of yours.”
You should be afraid.
But you aren’t.
Because in this moment, despite the sharp edges, despite the threat in his voice, you see something you shouldn’t be able to see.
Not just a monster.
Not just a legend.
But something in between.
And the realization is like a blade slipping between his ribs.
Because you know.
You know that sound was not a mistake.
You know that it was instinct.
You know that, buried beneath centuries of cruelty and ruin, there is a body that still remembers what it means to be at peace.
And worst of all—worst of all—you have the audacity to ask, voice quiet but certain,
“…Why does it bother you?”
Something flickers in his expression.
A crack in the armor.
A hairline fracture in the mask he has spent centuries perfecting.
Sukuna hates you in that moment.
Hates you for seeing him.
Hates you for not fearing him.
Hates you for existing in a space he swore he would never allow anyone to occupy.
His fingers tighten around your throat—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you that he could. Just enough to make sure you understand.
“You think I am embarrassed?” he scoffs, voice low, dangerous. “Foolish little thing.”
And yet—
He does not kill you.
He does not silence you.
Instead, he exhales, slow and deliberate, and leans in close—so close that his breath brushes over your lips.
"You will not always be so lucky," he murmurs.
And then, as if to prove that none of this meant anything, as if to prove that *you* mean nothing, he lets you go.
The warmth, the weight of him—it all vanishes.
As if it had never been there at all.
As if the sound you heard—the sound that should *not* exist in a monster like him—had been nothing more than a trick of your imagination.
But you know better.
And so does he.
-----
That night, after you have drifted into sleep, Sukuna stays awake.
He does not need rest.
But for the first time in a long, long time, he does not know what to do with the silence.
For centuries, the quiet has been easy. He has worn his solitude like armor, a kingdom built from blood and terror.
But now, as he sits in the stillness, he is aware of something else.
Something beneath the violence.
Something beneath the legend.
Something unsettling.
He does not sigh. He does not hum.
But if, in the quietest part of the night, something deep within his chest rumbles—low, steady, impossible—no one is awake to hear it.
And that is enough.
For now.
-----
Greetings, Dreamers and Readers ✨🌸
Honestly, if I ever had to stand in front of that curse king in real life, I’d probably be too busy shaking to even breathe properly. But hey, this is my story, so I get to look him dead in the eye and say, "Dude. You’re purring.”
Anyway, let me know what you think! Feel free to comment and share your thoughts—I’d love to hear them. And if you have any ideas, send them my way! Who knows? Maybe the next thing I write will be inspired by you.
✨ Bye and take care, hope you all have a good day ✨
Greetings, Dreamers and Readers 🌸✨
so—wanna know where i’ve been all this time?
Well. school started. and it’s been exactly as soul-sucking and exhausting as you'd expect.
i’ve been floating through days like a ghost that didn’t even get a tragic backstory. just assignments.
but in between the mess, i ended up writing a few jjk meta pieces. not planned, not polished—just… thoughts that wouldn’t shut up. little rants. poetic breakdowns. trauma essays disguised as fandom content. you know the deal.
i’ll be posting them all by this evening—there’s like 2 or 3 for now. they’re less “analysis” and more “me yelling into the void about how the jujutsu society is evil and i would physically fight god to protect every broken, bloody, emotionally-damaged character in that show.” so yeah. feel free to read, scream, cry, or argue with me in the tags. i’m down for it all.
they’re not perfect. but they’re honest.
and weirdly enough, they feel like the most me thing i’ve written in a while.
see you in the ruins.
✨Bye and take care, hope you all have a good day ✨
The Things He Never Forgets
Sukuna does not remember the faces of the men he has killed.
They blur together, indistinct, insignificant. A thousand screams, a thousand lives, all reduced to echoes lost in time.
He does not remember the first time he tasted blood.
Only that it was warm. Only that it tasted like power.
He does not remember the last time he spoke without cruelty.
Perhaps he never did.
Perhaps he was born sharp-edged, made only to take, to destroy, to rule.
And yet—
Sometimes, something shifts.
Something rises unbidden, uncalled for, unwanted.
A scent, a sound, a fleeting phrase spoken without thought.
And suddenly, he is somewhere else.
Suddenly, he is something else.
Something before.
-----
It happens on an evening like any other.
The fire is low. The air is thick with the scent of whatever you’re cooking, something simple, something forgettable. He is not paying attention. He does not need to.
Until you hum.
A tune, quiet, absentminded. A fragment of something old, something small.
And the world lurches.
Because he knows it.
Not the song itself, but the shape of it, the feeling of it. The way it pulls at something he does not remember storing away.
The air changes.
Sukuna does not move. He does not react. But his fingers twitch, curling just slightly where they rest.
It is nothing.
It is nothing.
Except—
His mind betrays him.
A flicker. A glimpse. A place he does not recognize, a life that is not his.
Or perhaps it was.
Once.
Long ago.
Before he became a god. Before he became a curse. Before his name was spoken in fear and reverence and hatred alike.
He does not remember.
And yet his body does.
The way his shoulders tense, the way his breath slows. The way he knows that if he reached out now—if he closed his eyes, if he listened just a little longer—
Something would come back.
And he is not sure he wants that.
-----
"Why did you stop?"
Your voice snaps him back.
He blinks, sharp and immediate, as if tearing himself free from something he does not want to acknowledge.
"You were humming," he says, and his voice is too even. Too careful.
You tilt your head. "Did it bother you?"
He scoffs, the sound rough. "Hardly."
A lie.
Because he does not forget things.
Not like this.
Not in ways that matter.
And yet, when he closes his eyes that night, long after the fire has burned down and silence has settled over the room,
The tune lingers.
It settles into the quiet spaces of his mind, the places he does not look too closely at.
And for the first time in centuries,
Sukuna remembers something he never meant to.
-----
Greetings, Dreamers and Readers ✨🌸
Sukuna having an internal crisis? Maybe. Or maybe I’m just delulu. Who’s to say?
But honestly, music is one of the most human things there is. It lingers. It carries. A song from centuries ago can still be sung today, and I feel like that’s the kind of thing that would get to him. Maybe not in a way he’d ever admit, but in that quiet, unwanted way where he finds himself listening when he doesn’t mean to.
And that line—what is immortality if not a curse? To be left behind when the other part of you is gone?—I swear I’ve read it somewhere before. It sounds like something that should be carved into a tombstone or whispered by some tragic figure who’s lived too long. (If you remember where it’s from, tell me because my brain is blanking.)
But yeah, completely agree with that sentiment. Who the hell wants to live forever? Tom Riddle was as stupid as he was good-looking.
---
Anyway, let me know what you think! I’d love to hear your thoughts on this one. Feel free to comment or send ideas—you know I love them.
✨ Bye and take care, hope you all have a good day ✨
The Taste of Memory :
Sukuna does not eat because he needs to.
Not in the way humans do.
His existence is beyond such trivial things. He is a curse. A god, a monster, a thing carved out of legend and blood. His existence is not bound by mortal needs. He does not hunger the way humans hunger.
He has long surpassed the fragile demands of a mortal body.
And yet—
He still eats.
Not out of necessity, not even out of hunger, but out of something older. Something deeper.
Because the body remembers what the mind does not.
And though he may have forgotten what it is to be human, his tongue has not.
---
The first time you notice it, it almost seems insignificant.
A meal placed in front of him, a casual thing, something to pass the time. He looks at it, considers it, and then—
With an expression of pure disdain—
Pushes the plate toward you.
“Trash,” he says. “Eat it if you want.”
You blink. “You haven’t even tried it.”
“I don’t need to.” His mouth twists in something between disgust and condescension. “The smell alone tells me enough.”
You should have expected it. Should have known. Sukuna does not tolerate mediocrity, does not entertain anything that does not meet his impossible standards.
He holds himself above the world, and the world has never been worthy.
Still, you roll your eyes and take the plate.
It is not the first time.
It will not be the last.
---
He does this often.
Rejects food without hesitation, discarding anything that does not meet his unspoken, unreasonably high expectations.
Too bland. Too dry. Too greasy.
Too human.
It is not that he cannot eat. It is that he refuses to eat something unworthy of him.
He takes no pleasure in mediocrity.
He does not need to, does not have to, does not want to.
But then—
Sometimes, very rarely, something changes.
-----
It happens without fanfare.
A dish placed before him. The same routine, the same look of practiced indifference. He lifts his chopsticks, takes a bite, chews.
And then—
Nothing.
No complaint. No insult. No dramatic dismissal.
Just silence.
You glance at him, waiting, expecting the usual disapproval. But he keeps eating, slow, measured. And when he finishes, he sets his utensils down with the same detached carelessness as always.
“...Not bad,” he mutters, almost as if to himself.
And then, in a voice quieter, that is more grudging—
“Make it again.”
---
The second time, it is deliberate.
He does not shove the plate away. Does not scoff or sneer. He eats, and when he finishes, he leans back, watching you with something unreadable in his expression.
“Do you remember how you made this?” he asks.
There is something strange in his tone. Not interest, not curiosity—something else.
You nod.
He exhales through his nose, thoughtful, almost irritated at himself. “Good. Do it again.”
Not an order.
Not a demand.
A request.
Something he cannot take, only accept.
And that knowledge unsettles him more than anything else.
-----
Sukuna does not remember his last meal as a human.
That life is a blur, a ghost too distant to reach.
But his body remembers.
Remembers the feeling of warmth in his chest after something good. Remembers the weight of a meal that satisfies more than just hunger. Remembers the distant echo of something familiar, something lost.
It does not come often. But when it does—when a dish reminds him, however faintly, of something he cannot name—
He does not know what to do with it.
Does not know how to exist in a moment that is not about power, or blood, or war.
Does not know how to want something that is not destruction.
So he says nothing.
But the next day, he asks again.
“You’re making that thing.”
And you do.
-----
Greetings, Dreamers and Readers ✨🌸
Another Sukuna piece for you all—this one feels like tasting something from your childhood. You know, that one dish you used to eat all the time, only to have it again years later and realize it doesn’t just taste like food—it tastes like a memory. Like a time, a place, a feeling you can’t quite name.
Except here, it’s Sukuna, and nothing is ever that simple. It’s not just nostalgia—it’s something buried, something almost forgotten, something he probably doesn’t want to remember but does anyway. And of course, because he’s him, it’s a whole lot more complicated (and God-King-like) than just reminiscing.
---
Anyway, let me know what you think! I’d love to hear your thoughts on this one. Feel free to comment or send me ideas—you know I love them.
✨ Bye and take care, hope you all have a good day ✨
The Hands of a God-King :
Sukuna’s hands were never meant to be touched.
They were carved by power, molded for violence. Fingers meant for destruction, palms that know only the heat of blood, the crack of bone, the sharpness of steel.
And yet, they are scarred.
Not from battle—no one has ever been strong enough to leave a lasting wound on him—but from himself. From the weight of his own strength, from the countless times he has torn himself apart and stitched himself back together with sheer will alone.
His body is a temple built and rebuilt from ruin.
And his hands are the proof of it.
-----
The scars are strange things. Some thin as hairline cracks, others jagged, deep—memories of a power so vast it could not be contained, even within his own skin. He has felt his bones fracture under the pressure of it, muscles split, skin burned away, only to heal again, over and over, as if his body has long accepted that it will never truly be whole.
He doesn’t think about it. There’s no point.
It is what it is.
And yet—sometimes, when the world is quiet, when his hands are still, he can feel it. The ghosts of old wounds, the echoes of destruction.
The knowledge that his body is both indestructible and deeply, deeply broken.
-----
He doesn’t know when you first noticed.
Perhaps it was the way his fingers curled absentmindedly when he wasn’t using them. Perhaps it was the way he flexed them, as if reminding himself they were still there. Or maybe it was the way they traced over things—absent, almost thoughtful—when he thought no one was watching.
Whatever it was, you had noticed. And that was a problem.
Because people who noticed things about him usually didn’t live long.
And yet, there you were.
Watching. Thinking. Understanding something he did not want to be understood.
One night, as his fingers drummed idly against his knee, your gaze flickered down to his hands. The movement was so slight he almost didn’t catch it.
"Does it hurt?" you asked.
He had half a mind to ignore you. To dismiss it with a sneer, to tell you that pain was beneath him. But something about the way you said it—calm, certain, like you already knew the answer—made him pause.
And for just a moment, his hands stilled.
Then he laughed. Low, sharp, edged with something unreadable.
"You think a god suffers from something so trivial?"
But you didn’t back down.
"Gods suffer more than anyone, don’t they?"
And he should have struck you down for that. Should have reminded you of what he was, of what you were, and of how your words were nothing but fleeting air against the weight of his existence.
But he didn’t.
Instead, his fingers twitched.
And in that moment—so small, so insignificant he almost didn’t notice it himself—his hands curled, just slightly, as if remembering something they were not supposed to.
-----
Sukuna does not think about his hands.
Not in the way you do, with your quiet observations, your thoughtful little remarks.
But sometimes, when your gaze lingers on them—when your fingers brush against his in passing, when your touch lingers for just a second too long—he thinks about what they would have been in another life.
If they would have held instead of taken.
If they would have been human.
And then he laughs, because the thought is absurd. Because that life never existed, and never will.
But sometimes, when the world is quiet, when he lets his hands rest against you without thinking—when they do not tighten, do not wound, do not take—they do not feel like weapons.
If they would have built instead of destroyed.
They feel like hands.
And that is the cruelest trick of all.
-----
Greetings, Dreamers and Readers ✨🌸
Here I am—stupid little me—trying to make this walking catastrophe feel a little human again. Like that’s ever going to work.
If Sukuna knew I was sitting here, dissecting his hands like some tragic metaphor, he’d kill me before I even got to my second sentence. No hesitation. Just a flick of his fingers, a scoff, maybe an "Tch. Foolish human," and then—nothing. I’d be gone. Reduced to a smear on the ground, utterly irrelevant to a god-king who has never needed to justify a single thing he’s done.
But I don’t know. I keep coming back to it. His hands—scarred, precise, brutal—feel like they tell a story he has no interest in acknowledging. They’ve taken everything, ruined everything, but they’ve also rebuilt him over and over again. He’s been unmade by his own power more times than anyone else ever could, and yet, here he is. Still standing. Still undefeated. And if there’s one thing Sukuna hates, it’s the idea of anything having power over him.
So what does that mean for the hands that have both created him and destroyed him?
---
Anyway, those are just my thoughts. Maybe I’m reading too much into it. Maybe I should shut up before Sukuna manifests just to personally smite me. But hey, feel free to comment and share your thoughts—I’d love to hear what you think. And if you’ve got headcanons, send them my way. I might try writing them too.
Until then, I’ll just be here, waiting for the inevitable divine wrath.
✨ Bye and take care, hope you all have a good day ✨
Sukuna’s Reflection :
Sukuna does not linger in front of mirrors.
It is not because he fears what he sees. Fear is for lesser things—mortals who cower before their own shadows, kings who wake in cold sweat at the thought of losing their crowns. He is not them. He is not afraid.
But he does not look for long.
Because there was a time when his face was different. A time before he had four eyes and a mouth that split his body like a curse.
A time before he became something whispered about in the dark.
And though he does not regret it, there are moments—quiet, fleeting—where he wonders.
What would he have been if he had chosen differently? Would he still be feared?
Or would he simply be forgotten?
---
Once, long ago, he had a face that belonged to a man.
He remembers it only in fragments. A glimpse in the still water of a river. The shadow of it in dreams that do not belong to him. A sensation—muscles stretching over bone in a way that no longer feels familiar.
It is a strange thing, to forget your own features. To remember only the weight of them, the absence of them, rather than the thing itself.
But that is what he is now. A body made and unmade by his own hands. A temple built from ruin.
And temples are not meant to be beautiful. They are meant to be worshiped.
---
There are no mirrors in the places Sukuna calls his own.
Not because he cannot bear to see himself—no, that would be too human, too weak—but because he has no need for them. He does not need a reflection to know what he is. He can see it in the way people look at him. In the way they refuse to meet his gaze, as if to do so would invite death.
He is written across history in the blood of the fallen. That is proof enough of his existence.
And yet.
And yet, sometimes, he catches himself in the polished steel of a blade, in the dark glass of a window, in the eyes of those who do not yet understand what they are looking at.
And for just a moment, he sees not what he is, but what he was.
Not the King of Curses. Not the monster.
Just a man.
---
"You look like you’ve seen a ghost," you say one day, and he nearly laughs.
Because he has.
Because in every reflection, in every ripple of water, there is something half-familiar staring back.
The remnants of a boy who was born in blood and grew into something worse.
The bones of a man who once might have been kind, if kindness had ever been an option.
The shadow of someone he no longer recognizes.
And isn’t that the funny part?
He has spent centuries carving his name into the world, forcing people to remember him, fear him, and yet—
He is the only one who cannot remember himself.
---
Sukuna tilts his head, studying his reflection with a faint, unreadable expression. He watches the way his second mouth curls into a sneer of its own accord. The way his extra eyes blink a fraction too slow, out of sync with the rest of him.
It is a face made for terror. A thing meant to be seen and feared, not understood.
And still—there is something missing.
Not regret. Never regret.
But a question.
Would he have been happy?
If he had chosen differently, if he had not become this, would there have been joy? Would there have been laughter, something real and full instead of the sharp, cruel thing he lets slip past his lips now?
Or would he have faded into obscurity, just another nameless fool in a world that does not care?
Would he rather be a forgotten man or a remembered monster?
The answer should be easy.
It should be.
But in moments like this, when he stands before a mirror and sees something that does not belong to him, he is not so sure.
-----
Greetings, Dreamers and Readers ✨🌸
Look, I know I write Sukuna with a lot of philosophy, but I don’t think I’ve fully understood him yet. Every time I try, he ends up a little too lost, a little too weighed down, and I know that’s not quite right. Sukuna isn’t the type to sit in a corner and sulk about the meaning of his existence—if he ever caught me writing him like this, I’d be dead before I could even start explaining myself.
Like, picture it: I’m standing there, notebook in hand, ready to argue about his inner demons, and he just looks at me—amused, vaguely disgusted—before shaking his head and flicking his wrist. Ah, foolish little woman. And then I’m gone. Just a thought, just dust.
But hey, he’s not here to do any of that, so here I am, rambling away.
---
And that’s where you come in. Tell me—am I getting him right? Or am I making him too introspective, too… human? Is there something in Sukuna that justifies this angle, or am I just trying to squeeze meaning out of something that doesn’t need it? Let me know. Let’s figure out this god-king together.
✨ Bye and take care, hope you all have a good day ✨
okay so ngl I’m probably not gonna write these as good as I do for Gojo, Geto, or my sweet bbg Kento (character analysis just hits different with them), but I’ll try my best to ruin your emotions anyway. So, which one do I attempt next hmm ?
Well, Sukuna is the biggest Megumi simp of all
does ryoumen sukuna is simp??? (what got lost in translation in ch.9 and ch.118)
yes, yes he does (but here’s an overanalysis why:)
you see there was a callback to ch.9 in ch.118 that got lost in translation
when i first read the manga in english i missed it, so i thought i’d share just so everyone knows how highkey sukuna’s simping is (this is sukufushi btw)
this is from ch.9:
the context is that megumi is fighting sukuna; nothing too out of place here
but in japanese:
if we only look at what is pronounced what sukuna is saying is “show me (what you’ve got)!! fushiguro megumi!!” (hence the english translation “entertain me”)
normally when shounen manga says “show me (what you’ve got)” it is with the phrase “見せてみろ (misete miro)” , literally meaning “let me see”
but here sukuna replaces “見” with the kanji “魅”: the pronunciation is the same (mi), but whereas “見” means “see” and the phrase “show me (what you’ve got)” is very common, “魅” means to “bewitch”, “fascinate”, “enchant”, or “charm” (translation taken from wikitionary), and the phrase “魅せてみろ” (“bewitch me”) is virtually never used because why would it ever be used like bro you’re coming on way too strong tone it down a little
anyway so the dude is literally yelling “bewitch me!! fushiguro megumi!!” in megumi’s face (in fact the chinese translation is somewhere along the lines of “make me fall for you!! fushiguro megumi!!” which i think is neat but that’s beside the point)
but because it is pronounced like “let me see”, and “bewitch me” is a very rare phrase (it’s not in the dictionaries i think), megumi interprets it as “show me (what you’ve got)”; he never knows what sukuna really means and honestly someone should write a miscommunication fic about it
but then it gets even better:
this is from ch.118 (so SPOILER ALERT for the shibuya arc):
megumi has summoned his strongest shikigami (it’s basically self-destruct but with a more complicated procedure) and is currently out cold and dying; the only known way to save megumi is to defeat said strongest shikigami, which is precisely what sukuna is doing here
pause, rewind—some background info for this scene: in ch.9 (at the end of megumi’s fight with sukuna, when megumi is desperate) megumi tries to summon his strongest shikigami, i.e. he wants to self-destruct and take sukuna out with him—hence why he says the things about how he never once regretted saving yuuji—but yuuji comes back (and promptly fucking dies) so sukuna never learns in ch.9 that megumi wants to self-destruct to kill him
but here in ch.118, megumi has summoned that strongest shikigami, and sukuna approves of its strength, saying “if it was me from that time, it may have been able to defeat me”—if megumi had summoned the strongest shikigami in ch.9, sukuna might have lost
basically: sukuna is really fucking impressed (cf. ch.9, where he tells megumi to “show me (what you’ve got)!!” or “bewitch me!!”)
you see, in the second-to-last panel with the hands, sukuna says “you showed me the way… fushiguro megumi!” which is not necessarily an inaccurate translation, but the callback gets lost in translation
look at the raw scan:
in the panel with the hands, once again we have the very rare phrase of “魅せて” (“bewitch”) but this time with past/present perfect tense
if we only look at what is pronounced, in ch.9 we have “show me (what you’ve got)!!”—and here in ch.118 we have “you have shown me (what you’ve got)… fushiguro megumi!!”
but looking at the rare phrase with the kanji “bewitch”, in ch.9 we have “bewitch me!! fushiguro megumi!!"—and here in ch.118, sukuna is saying “you have bewitched me… fushiguro megumi!!”, which is strangely maybe romantic?? tbh however you look at sukuna’s dialogue it’s a nice little callback to ch.9
the entire plot with sukuna in shibuya is some really really—and i cannot stress this enough—really fucked-up shit, but at the same time im endlessly entertained by the idea of sukuna being the megumi simp to end all megumi simps so there’s that