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Beautiful face🥺

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Uncle Sukuna

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recent comm for @samaraxmorgan ☆

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Brat

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First time drawing True Form Sukuna. Someone put this on a shirt 😍

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Your honor I'm going feral✋🏻😔

More teacher's AU because this is all I can think of right now. Also, flirty Gojo that gets a little too flustered when Sukuna flirts back🤝🏻

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"you're mad at me."

you huff through your nose, your reflection in the mirror is an angry one and rightfully so. eyes closed you take a moment to collect yourself, to loosen your clenched jaw, and just breathe.

"'you're mad at me', says the idiot man" you say, eyes intent on not leaving your reflection in the mirror, " 'of course i'm mad at you' replies the idiot man's wife." matter of factly, mock sympathy clear in your voice, before it turns cold. "for last night i discovered my idiot man husband who was terribly hurt by i'm not even sure what, standing in the bathroom trying to tend to his wound with tools that are inadequate to tend to those sorts of wounds.'"

the comb in your hands now being held like it is something between an accusing finger and a weapon ready to attack. still your eyes do not leave their reflection in the mirror before you.

sukuna thinks not having you speak to him, not having you look at him since last night, is lethal weapon enough.

"and when idiot wife sees this she feels a surge of very very many emotions of worry and sadness and anger and confusion and concern and yet, idiot man plays her the fool. no explanation,- "

"baby, please"

you sound exasperated, frantic; and him desperate.

"nothing, nothing at all to ease her worries. like she is someone he simply owes nothing too. like she isn't the one he's married to. it is possible that idiot man thinks his wife will simply forget. and then what does idiot man do you ask? well idiot man does just as his name suggests and acts as if he has no idea what is going on, he acts like an idiot, and continues to state plainly, uselessly, 'you're mad at me.'"

you turn to look at him and you look pained. and god does he feel that way too. it's hidden well by your hardened exterior but sukuna has come far past the point of being fooled by the expression on your face, your eyes tell. they always do.

he moves from where he stands to take to your side, his place, sat next to you. his movements stiff, not as smooth as usual but still his natural effortlessness shines through. his knees touching yours almost shyly, and his hands curled in his lap, clasped together tightly. he wants to hold yours. you can tell, though make no movement to realize that desire. that need. neither of you move. but you wait for him.

it's very strange to see sukuna like this, it doesn't happen very often. crimson eyes down cast and his lips seemingly unable to decide whether they want to part and speak to you or to press themselves into a thin line and say nothing at all.

moments and moments pass and he gives you nothing.

your chest fills with air and it deflates, deeep breathe. you stand from your place and move to your bed, you need some sleep right now. you missed it with your back turned to him as you walk, his form falls further. longing for you so dearly when your so close.

his ego and pride aside; those things have no room in his mind, not when he is with you. he didn't need to be those things, he did not have to be endlessly strong. he did not have to be so guarded and he didn't want to be. he doesn't want you to be that way around him either.

shit, he hadn't meant for this.

last night, sukuna had come home with a bloody gash through his his side. it was late and you were asleep, and he was tired. the last thing he needed was to have to wait in a hospital for care when he could do it here, himself, close to you.

so there he is, lights on in the bathroom as he's standing their trying to stitch himself up with the little sewing kit you kept in the medicine cabinet and a pair of kitchen scissors. it was a bloody affair, jaw clenched through the pain. his head was thrown back, eyes shut so tight. bloodied toilet paper everywhere. and that's right when you walk in.

he must've been louder than he'd thought. your sleepy form rigid as your eyes adjust to the light and you register the sight before you.

your husband standing with his back against one of the walls, bloodied hands are positioned close to the wound in his side, one holding the needle and thread dripping in his blood. the silver band he wears so proudly on his left hand is too.

your eyes frantically darting everywhere, finally landing on his wide crimson eyes. they match the color of the blood soaking his hands and smeared on his face and nearly everything else in the bathroom.

if the circumstances were different, if it wasn't for you he gaping hole in his side, you'd think it's quite a picturesque view.

your eyes go from wide and shocked to focused and determined. the transformation quick. you take his hand in yours and lead him to sit on the lid of the toilet lid almost as quick. you pull the hand covering the gash away from it so you can see it without distraction.

it's a few too many inches long for your liking, right down the side of his tattooed torso. sure he's been hurt before, bruises on his face, bloody knuckles, some scratches maybe, you've had to sew him up before but really nothing major, nothing in comparison to this.

"don't move, i'll only be a moment."

you've left to grab the first aid box you have, it isn't ideal, but better than what he's been doing, it's all you have to work with for now, and so it's your best option.

once back, you settle between his thighs and start opening and removing the stitches he's sewn in, so that you can clean it up, disinfect it, before sewing it up properly, and wrapping him up.

your work is diligent and quite. eyes hardly ever leaving their current subject of interest. he's quite too, eyes don't leave you. in the past when you've found yourself in these situations, he'd be teasing or making those quick-witted remarks of his. but not today. he can't bring himself to.

you do your best, willing your hands not to tremble as you work; there's so much blood. you can see his hands clenched atop his thighs, knuckles going white. his muscles flinging at the burning and sting of the disinfectant or the cold of the needle repeatedly piercing his aching skin. you know he's tired, you are too. but sleep is so far form your mind right now. you place a hand on his thighs and squeeze gently, hoping your grip is steadying to him. something to keep him grounded.

once your done, you let out a slow, shaky breathe, quickly moving to the sink to wash your hands and dry your hands before wrapping him up in clean gauze. the first few layers bloody quick, but you continue until it is enough, looking up at him in conformation that it isn't too tight before you secure it in place.

your hands gently drag up and down his sides before they settle of his tights to push yourself up, only then do you meet his eyes properly. he feels like it's his first time seeing you all over again. its not enough, eyes darting away far too quick. its far too fleeting a moment for him to properly telepathically convey his thoughts to you through eye contact.

you pack up the first aid kid setting it on the counter, leaving to grab him a clean shirt from the closet setting it on the counter as well, and your off to bed. not another word to him, not another glance. you don't even know that you want to know what happen. he feels like a child how'd just been scolded. his body far too large for him in this moment.

sukuna slips the shirt over his head, and moves carefully when he's fitting the rest of it over his body. it was pretty bad, he can't even pretend that this isn't all that big of a deal. he knew, your actions were only coming from a place of concern for his wellbeing and that made this all that much worse. he feels likes he's been drinking hot sand instead of water.

he looks at himself in the mirror, bloodied sink under him: sighh. there's not much else he can do.

he peaks his head out the bathroom first, then the rest of him emerges. he's met with the sight of you, well kinda. it's more like he's met with the sight of a lump under the blankets he knows is you.

your back facing his side of the bed, and he's sitting on the edge of it. there's an air of awkwardness, as he settles under the covers, his eyes trained on your back. sukuna wants so badly to shuffle close to you and lay his head on your pillow, to hold your hand in his and tangle your legs together under the covers, but he doesn't. so he just stares at you longingly, he stares at you like your hundreds of kilometres away. all he can hope for is that tomorrow, when he wakes up with you, it'll be better.

that he'll be better.

better for you.

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Fierce deity Sukuna x Little Monk yuuji

※ AU ooc, Little monk Yuuji on a pilgrimage to find and consume Sukuna’s finger. 

※ In my delusion it’s Kamakura period (right after Sukuna’s era)

※ Want Yuuji to simultaneously look like a bride and a monk 

※ Calls Sukuna as Sukuna (irreverent brat)

※ Curse power red because the little tyke is ~70% already a curse. 

※ Considered a threat by Sorcerers Associations because he’s trying to find Sukuna’s fingers (for his own purpose)

 sukuna calls him 小僧 (little monk) in canon so there’s no way i’m skipping monk yuuji au.

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😈

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Sukuna handmade rice dumpling👌

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vessel 

♡ prints / twitter / kofi ♡

[ID: Portrait painting of a character’s side profile, he has short pink hair with an undercut, he has a seemingly pale complexion and a scar over his face. There are two hands around him with sharp dark nails and tattoos on their wrists. Colors are mostly warm tones and there is lighting coming from below, he is crying, his tears in a red color.]

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Another day on JJK sets with Megumi’s happy floofs 🎬☀️☀️ PART1, PART2 and PART3 of my Jujutsu Kaisen Au!

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Commission of daddy sukuna for one of my besties 🤭😩

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Fallen Angel - Sukuna

Prints; https://artsicfox.bigcartel.com/product/fallen-demon-sukuna-print

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“you always cheat,” you huff, hands on your knees as you catch your breath. SUKUNA smirks, spinning the ball on his fingertip with practiced ease. “cheat? you just suck.”

you roll your eyes and swipe at the ball, but he lifts it out of reach. “give it back.” “make me.”

he’s been like this since you were kids — always pushing, testing, teasing. but something about it feels different. maybe it’s the way he watches when you step onto the court, how his gaze lingers when you’re tying your shoelaces, or the he’s not as cruel anymore.

you glare at him, backing up a step before launching forward. he predicts it, of course, sidestepping just enough to make you stumble, hand steadying you.

“careful-” “you gonna let go?” you deflect.

his lips twitch, but he doesn’t let go. his grip brushes down your palm before he finally releases. “got one more game in you?”

you exhale, shaking off whatever that moment was, forcing a smirk. “only if you can handle losing.”

but this time, when he steals the ball, when his arm brushes yours, when he leans in a little too close after sinking a perfect shot — he doesn’t pull away as fast. and neither do you.

a request for my 1.5k event basketball + childhood friends, sukuna for @jellychannie

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ong if this doesn’t blow up i will

Ryomen Sukuna - Will post timelapse if requested ❤️