Ryomen Sukuna
đź–¤||Anything, for you.||đź–¤
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Every night, she haunted him.
In the depths of his endless slumber, Ryomen Sukuna—The King of Curses—was not plagued by vengeance, death, or power. No, he was haunted by something far crueler: warmth. Gentle laughter like wind through leaves. The brush of fingers on his face. Eyes that stared into his own with a softness that made his chest ache—ache—in a way battle never had.
And he loathed it.
For centuries, the dreams came. Always her. A girl with a voice that could lull demons to sleep, who danced just out of reach. In those dreams, she smiled only for him. She whispered secrets to him in the dark. And Sukuna, the great and terrible, would listen. Would want. Would need.
He knew it wasn’t right. He didn’t feel. Not like that. Not toward a mere mortal. So he told himself it was a curse laid on him by some forgotten sorcerer—some illusion meant to torment him.
But every time he opened his eyes, the void she left behind grew.
And then, everything changed.
Uraume returned one blood-washed dusk, footsteps hesitant for the first time in centuries. Their head bowed low, voice barely a whisper.
I found her, my king.Sukuna didn’t speak. Not at first. The air trembled. His many eyes narrowed. He stood slowly, silence more deadly than any roar.
Where?he asked, and the word came out more like a growl. Uraume knelt deeper, as if the truth was too heavy for their spine.
In the city. Alive. Human. But… she does not know of you.Sukuna felt something break inside him. She was real. Not a phantom of sleep, not a trick of the mind—but flesh, blood, breath. And she didn’t even know him? The girl that had plagued his mind for centuries, wasn’t even aware of him? He should’ve laughed. Mocked the cruelty of fate. But all he could do was feel. He would go to her. Not to beg. Not to plead. But to look into her eyes and know. If this world had the audacity to take her from his mind, he would carve it apart to put her back where she belonged. With him.