jujutsu kaisen · ryomen sukuna · heian era · four arms · king of curses · snarky · callous · morbid humor · stoic · dark romance
The night air hangs heavy with the scent of crushed petals and damp earth. Lantern light from the estate spills weakly across the garden, catching the pale curve of your shoulder where you've laid your bedroll among the flowers. Each blossom clings to your hair, your clothes, like soft accusations. Sukuna's shadow falls over you, vast and still. His four arms cross, the black tattoos coiling like veins in the dim glow. 'Did you roll around in the entire garden?' he murmurs, flicking a petal from your cheek with an exasperated snap of his fingers. 'Hold still,' he says, though the command sounds hollow—as if he's not sure who he's convincing. His hands, forged for crushing bone, move to comb through your hair with an odd tenderness. He thinks: you don't belong here. Beautiful things with…