DIVINITY ✦ ᴊᴊᴋ ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ //

Ryomen Sukuna // Just Deity Type Shit [❤️‍🔥]

>> Reader's gender never specified 

Sukuna x Deity!Reader (I came up with this at like 2:15 am, it just hit me out of nowhere)

 

[1100+ words]

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The first he ever heard of you was on one of his rampages. The scent of blood hung heavily in the air, along with the stench of burning flesh. The entire village a burning, raging inferno to the heavens. The last of the screams had burnt to the ground along with the city, and all that was left was an ugly scorch, a scar upon the earth. Sukuna towered above one remaining survivor, one quaking man paralyzed in fear. He lay weeping on the ground, blood caking his clothes and face. He prayed to the gods above, to Sukuna, to anyone who would listen. It was a very familiar ritual to Sukuna, and he had no qualms about splitting the man's head in two. His pleas for mercy only grated upon his nerves.

And then something the man said gave him pause. A name, one he had never heard before. In his blood-hungry rampages Sukuna had heard prayers screamed to every god in the sky earth and sea, and yet he had never heard of this name before. The man uttered it again and again, mumbling it like a mantra. Surprisingly, Sukuna found himself not wanting him to stop. The name was something nice, something warm to his ears, even if it was from the shredded throat of a dead man.

"Who is this you speak of?" Sukuna demanded,- but the man gave no answer, only repeating the name again and again, "Who do you pray to?" Sukuna stipulated, growing irritated now as the man continued to ignore him.

One cleave and the man's head toppled to the ground. Sukuna scoffed, curse him and whatever foolish deity he devoted himself to.

Some god, he thought, who was just the same as any divine being: wholly indifferent to the pleas of mortals. Sukuna found himself slightly frustrated as he left the burning inferno. Although plenty of blood was spilt, he felt... unsatisfied. The fact he did not know of whoever the man had prayed irritated him more than he'd like to admit. He hesitated at first, but eventually tried saying the name himself.

He was surprised by how much he liked it, how nicely his lips fit around each sound, how the weight felt on his tongue, the way he could almost taste it. It was an odd, foreign sensation, albeit not unwelcome.

Sukuna shakes his head, frustrated at something so trivial and simple as a name bothered him so greatly. He moved to walk ahead, but something suddenly stopped him.

He stared dumbfounded at the figure on the path in front of him. He could've sworn he had killed every last mortal in the village. But no, this wasn't a mortal, Sukuna could instantly tell upon a second glance. Nothing about the being in front of him was even remotely 'mortal'.

The way the figure carried itself, from the imprints- or lack thereof- that their feet should've made in the ground, from the way they almost seemed to glow against the smoky night sky. Everything about whoever this was screamed ethereal

They looked to the embers, the last remains of the village behind Sukuna, and almost seemed to sigh softly,

"It appears my timing is still a bit off" and their voice,— Sukuna had heard many beautiful things in his time, from the finest music to the softest chirp of a bird, but the words that left the figure's lips had to be the sweetest blessing his ears had ever been graced with, "Unless," they add, "you were the one to summon me"

Without even needing to think about it, Sukuna uttered the name,— it tumbled from his lips before he could even stop himself,- but something about it just seemed right

You tilted your head, smiling when he says your name, and Sukuna felt that for once in his sinful, accursed life that he had been lucky, lucky to ever have the privilege to witness such a divine and wonderful thing

Never once had Sukuna ever witnessed a god answer a prayer. In the thousands he had slaughtered, out of the hundreds upon thousands of pleas had heard being tossed up to the heavens, never once had he ever seen one answered. He found it a bit ironic, how you ceased to answer to the dying's mantra of your name over and over again, yet were summoned the second he muttered your name. But Sukuna found he'd rather prefer it no other way.

"Was there someone else here?" You asked, seemingly searching around for whoever had called your name

"no," Sukuna replies casually, if not a little smugly, smirking perhaps just a wee bit too much, "just me"

He watched you shrug nonchalantly, "oh well, I'll catch them some other day"— as if this was some casual everyday occurrence for you.

As you turned around Sukuna can't help but notice how much the absence of your gaze bothers him. Now that he had been bestowed with your attention, he suddenly had no desire to give it up

He can't help but notice the lack of disgust in your eyes, the look of disdain for such lowly curse scum noticeably absent from your face - and for the first time Sukuna doesn't feel like the almighty King of Curses- he doesn't even feel like a curse. In your presence he just simply was. Perhaps the disarming feeling should have alarmed him, perhaps being stripped of his power and crushing presence should have scared him, but he just didn't care. He oddly didn't feel powerless at all. The paradox of feelings was all so foreign and new to Sukuna, and it wasn't something he really wanted to give up right now.

But there was nothing he could do to stop you from leaving. And yet he somehow liked that fact too. He held no power over you, and he liked the sudden shift in power dynamic

"Feel free to summon me anytime" you waved back over your shoulder, "not like I have anything else better to do"

That got his attention. Really? Call you anytime, and you'd answer?

"Alright" he grunted in response, and he found himself believing you.

The grin you offered before turning around and suddenly disappearing had Sukuna almost collapse to his knees and start praying right then and there. Wouldn't that be a first.

Sukuna turns around and faces what was left of the village. Charred remains and burnt wood. And, in a split second decision, began walking back towards it

He decided he wanted to build a shrine.

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[A/N] ohhhh he'd build so many shrines and dedicate so many poems to you and just think about the sacrifices - the atrocities -he'd make in your name, the amount of blood that would be spilt... oh the religious metaphors would hit so different--  im so normal about this 🙏this could get so nasty so quickly