Ი︵𐑼 I love to make fanarts, specially from jujutsu kaisen!
Im also thinking about starting to write fanfictions ( about Sukuna <3) and other characters! ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ
I wanna start updating at least everyday but sometimes im a bit busy with family matters, but i have the desire to be loyal to my hobbies and also to meet people that appreceate and enjoy my creations! 𔘓
ᯓᡣ𐭩 Favorite artist - Nighty ⭑.ᐟ
Feel free to interact with me or my posts 🫶🏻 . . .(⁎ ˃ᆺ˂)
READ ( ONE SHOT )
( posts that you will like to read :3 idk how the links work lol )
>⩊<
💬 2 🔁 2 ❤️ 27 · Rʏᴏᴍᴇɴ Sᴜᴋᴜɴᴀ - · "TEMPTING OFFER"
_One Shot
➤ Introduction - Sukuna One Shot during Heian era! Enjoy it ⛩️
➤ Summa
💬 0 🔁 2 ❤️ 55 · ꪆৎ Sukuna enjoying your company
Apparently Sukuna enjoys sunny days. He was sitting down on the grass, in front of th
💬 2 🔁 0 ❤️ 20 · Sukuna if he had a daughter ( Heian Era ) ·
❛ ━━━━━━･❪ 🫀 ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜
➸ " What are you doing here, brat? Keep your fil
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 7 · ⛩️ Sukuna's Childhood ⛩️ ·
Sukuna once said that was an unwanted child. He was born a human, during Heian era and after
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 1 · - 𐙚Two Monsters, One Heart ᰔ · Sukuna Heian Era x Uraume ༄
➤ Introduction - This will be my first fanfic about Uraume and
synopsis: the king of curses, ryomen sukuna, pays his favorite concubine a visit after returning home from a grueling mission.
pairing featured: heian era ryomen sukuna x reader
content: nsfw, smut, mdni, oral sex, vaginal sex, anal sex, double penetration, mouth on hands, two dihs, overstimulation, heavy petting, implied breeding kink, multiple orgasms, creampie(s)
word count: 2k
you’re his favorite.
you were lord ryomen sukuna’s favorite.
he didn’t admit it– not out loud– but you were his favorite concubine and had been since you first arrived at his temple a few months ago.
he had around a dozen (give or take) women serving him, their only purpose to please him whenever he deemed necessary. he wasn’t home much as he spent most of his time traveling throughout japan (demolishing towns and fighting the strongest sorcerers he could find), but when he was home, he put those women to work.
reader had been sold off to him just two months prior, a more powerful empire sending their most valued women in an attempt to make peace with the king of curses and keep the rest of their people safe. reader was among those women– the prettiest among them, sukuna noted when he was first introduced.
his favoritism began after the first evening they spent together. her behavior and appearance stood out to him more than those of the other women who served him. from then on, he began visiting reader more often, gradually stretching her limits to see how much of him she could handle. he was pleased to learn it was more than most. he grew quite fond of her and her skills over the weeks.
though his favoritism soon started to become clear to the other concubines, the halls of his temple starting to fill with whispers of the woman who managed to pique his interest enough for it to become obvious to others.
ryomen’s affectionate (whether it be physical or emotional) only grew when he was away for a few days or weeks on some self-assigned mission he later regretted. he waltzed into the temple, still coated in crimson, and raised one of his four hands, getting the nearest servant’s attention.
“servant, go run me a bath,” he pauses for a brief moment, crossing his two top arms and leaving the bottom two hanging by his sides, “– and fetch reader for me as well. she will join me.”
the servant nods in understanding and scurries away, informing a few other servants of the task at hand. in just ten minutes time the restroom was crowded with steam, the bath filled to the top with warm water, and reader standing beside the tub in preparation for him, as he ordered.
he doesn’t grin, but his expression softens (just barely enough to notice) as he approaches the woman, a hand dripping scarlet reaching out to touch her cheek. “reader,” he hums gruffly, pushing some hair out of her face, his gaze lowering slowly.
“undres,” he commands as he pulls his hand back, crossing his first two arms while staring down at her.
reader nods in understanding, her hands reaching up to begin peeling off her robes, slowly like he preferred (even if he didn’t specifically request it). it was one of the things that made her his favorite– the way she was able to understand him by just his actions instead of the limited words he used.
she noticed how hungry his eyes were and how they traced every line and curve on her body– she’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy the attention he gave her.. and the other stuff he gave her.
“there you go,” sukuna subtly praises as he begins to slip off his own blood-soaked clothes, layers of fabric piling up on top of each other on the floor. “now, pin your hair up and get in, the water is beginning to cool down,” he commands as he approaches the tub, brushing past reader.
reader, again, nods in understanding, reaching over to gently grab a hairpin from the table beside the tub. ryomen settles into the large bath, water overflowing because of his cumbersome size. he watches reader as she pins up her hair. thee water around him was beginning to turn from clear to a subtle red, the blood washing off him and staining the water.
when reader joined him in the bath, she stumbled slightly, the damp wood of the tub proving to be slippier than she expected. though without even flinching, ryomen reached out and grabbed her, two of his large hands splayed over her ribs. he then brought her close, setting her between his legs while keeping his hands on her ribs.
“don’t be so clumsy, brat– i don’t want you breaking your skull open,” he warns in a low growl as he leans his head a bit closer to hers.
“yes, my lord, i understand,” reader responds in a meek voice, nodding in understanding.
despite her tone, she wasn’t scared of him (even though he was more than intimidating); she was rather aroused, the blush on her cheek exposing her feelings.
sukuna’s hands were still on her ribs, but his fingertips had reached out, brushing against the underside of her breasts. when he noticed her reaction, his eyes darkened, and he moved so his palms would be flat against her chest, his fingers closing in to squeeze the supple, pliant flesh.
reader whines quietly in reaction to his gentle yet lustful touch, his squeezing growing in pressure, though never reaching a point of pain. he had taken the time to measure the limits of her body, making sure never to go past those limits and accidentally break his little toy. no matter how violent the man was, he didn’t much enjoy the pain of women during intimacy.
“so loud and we haven’t even begun. the servants will hear you, brat,” ryomen scolds quietly, though there was no heat in his tone– he was just teasing her in an effort to rile her up further.
the servants heard no matter what, anyway, as he was rather loud himself.
the entirety of the twenty-minute bath is spent with ryomen feeling reader up– there isn’t much of a better way to describe it.
his hands moved from her breasts down to her waist, then to her thighs, and ended up at her ass in the end, then the entire thing repeated. he kissed her for a little though quickly moved on to marking up her neck, preferring that instead.
when the water had cooled down, he stepped out of the tub, the sheer red water sliding down his chest and dripping off him. he then scooped reader up into his arms (the top two), carrying her bridal style out of the restroom. he used his bottom two arms to cover up reader’s body (at least the important parts) when she squealed quietly in embarrassment. he did care about her comfort to some extent after all.
though he didn’t have much concern for how visible his body was (he was fully nude) as he walked through the main hall of the temple to his personal chambers. the servants didn’t gawk, at least not openly, but many had flushed cheeks by the time sukuna had passed them– not that he paid them any attention. all his attention was on the woman in his arms.
“spread,” he commanded bluntly after tossing reader onto his bed– the bed he very, very rarely brought anyone, let alone concubines, to. that was his sacred resting place after all.
reader barely had time to do what he said before ryomen was on top of her, two large hands beside her head while two other ones traveled down her body, cracking her legs open to stare down at that sweet spot between them that he craved so deeply, not that he would ever admit that (with words at least).
“tch, that stupid bath dried you out,” he grumbles as he takes one of his hands off reader’s thigh and places it over her heat, a mouth quickly forming on his hand.
a quiet whimper of surprise leaves reader’s lips as she feels a tongue travel between her folds before then diving inside her, plunging deep and pistoning in and out as it were trying to reach her deepest depths. he tilts his hand slightly upward so the ball of his palm can rub against her clit, increasing the pleasure.
then he uses the other hand on her waist to cover the lower half of her face, another mouth sprouting from his palm. he uses that had to kiss her– or tongue her, would be a better way to describe it. this was one of his favorite warm-ups– overstimulating his concubines (or really only reader) till they were soaked enough that he could enter smoothly.
the mouths on his hands continue their ministrations till he feels reader’s pussy clench slightly, an indicator that she was close to finishing. then ryomen suddenly pulls both hands back, earning a disappointed (and needy) whine from her.
“w-what happe–” though before she could fully question his sudden move, he slides right between her legs, his strong thighs underneath hers, and his hands joining soon after, giving her enough cushion to get comfortable.
“take deep breaths, reader,” he orders in a low tone, something that sounds almost like affection if it wasn’t so commanding.
reader listens, taking a deep breath as she feels the tip of one of his cocks line up with her entrance. the heat of it alone made her whimper, her teeth coming down to bite on her lip in an attempt to silence herself.
he uses one of his hands to guide his first cock inside her, rocking back and forth till he is nestled deep between her throbbing walls. he then reaches lower, gently taking his second cock and lining it up with that pucker just an inch lower. he does the same with the second, easing himself inside till he was bottomed out. a satisfied groan leaves his lips as he basks in her warmth for a few seconds– no other could pleasure even come close to how this felt.
reader was whining this entire time– the feeling of being so stuffed was overwhelming her till the point she was borderline incoherent, and he hadn’t even begun moving properly.
“deep breaths,” ryomen repeats before pulling out (with both of his members) and then moving back inside, the pace slow at first. one of the hands beside reader’s head moves to her jaw, tilting it back so he could watch her throat bob up and down with each ragged breath she took.
she came rather quickly after his mouth had been working on her for a while, though he doesn’t slow his thrusts down– instead, he speeds up, starting to decrease the time between each slap of his hips against her ass. now that she was warmed up, this also allowed him to go deeper, or at least try to.
“there we go,” he commented with a slight grin. he wasn’t a big talker usually, but seeing a woman, let alone his favorite, fall apart beneath him allowed his lips to be a bit looser.
he uses his fourth and last hand to grab her left thigh, hooking it over his hip so he can piston even deeper inside her. the entire time, short (yet loud) moans spilled from reader’s lips as she approached her second orgasm of the evening (the second of many to come).
his grin widens when he feels her tighten around him (both of him). he could feel his own peak approaching, his balls contracting tightly as the pressure continued to build up. “again? someone is enjoying themselves,” he growls into her ear as he leans closer.
his chest grazes hers as he pushes her hips upward, rutting into her even harder as quiet groans are ripped from his throat.
“ah–” he moans in contentment as his movements stutter, his two cocks throbbing slightly as his spunk shoots out in hot ropes inside her. he pulls out just enough for some of that seed to spill out of her aching heat, and her other hole. he enjoyed watching his evidence leak out of her– it proof that he had bred her thoroughly, and that’s what concubines technically were for.
he pulls back again, his members leaving her with a quiet plop. “tch, making such a mess already,” he cups her right thigh, his thumb beginning to stroke gentle circles on her skin. “the servants will have lots to clean up,” ryomen chuckles.
even though reader was exhausted and blissed out, she knew the evening was far from over– he had quite the stamina, even after days of carnage.
plagiarism, feeding work into AI & reposting of content not allowed without permission (@mwagumi)
divider credits to @cursed-carmine
banner credits to @David-Art23 on X (fanart/artwork)
the heian era: you serve as the king of curses’ handmaiden, always at his side, trusted with secrets, given a freedom no servant should have. you may want uraume, but sukuna, in his true form, already loves you. and he won’t let you go.
word count: 3.5k
tags/warnings: afab!reader, trueform!sukuna, pleasure dom kuna, historical inaccuracies, bathing, manhandling, oral - uraume, cuckhold, reader is the only one that orgams - twice
annie: typing this up the night before i get my first tattoo so, no beta we die like men. i want to put three of them in a jar and shake
this piece contains explicit nsfw content, minors dni
masterlist
When you accompany Uraume on patrol, a shadow looms behind you. It has followed for the length of the south wall, anything but subtle. The hem of a crimson sleeve is visible from three steps away.
You sigh. “He is worse at this than usual.”
Uraume considers that, hand never straying from the hilt at their hip. There is a subtle tug at their lip. “He does not believe he needs to be good at it.”
You keep your eyes forward, huffing. “Well, if his lordship wishes to join us, he should say so.”
“He prefers to observe,” they offer you an arm.
“He is staring at the back of my head.”
Sukuna steps into view then, and the lack of acknowledgement for his failed attempt at hiding would uphold his image if not for the faintest color rising along the bridge of his nose.
“You speak loudly,” he says, frowning.
“My lord,” Uraume greets, dipping their head with practiced precision. Oh sweet, sweet Uraume.
Gravel gathers in the hems of your hakama if you walk too slowly. You lift the fabric before it stains. “Were you following us?”
“No.”
Uraume answers at the same time. “Yes.”
Your gaze flits to them, surprised. They do not waver. Sukuna’s eyes narrow slightly.
“You are bold today.”
“I do not lie to you,” Uraume replies, simply. “You were behind us since the veranda.”
He scoffs. “You were aware, then?”
“Yes.”
“And you did not inform me.”
“There was no reason to.”
He turns to you, lifting an expectant brow.
“I assumed you would grow tired of shrubbery eventually.” you shrug, hand still tucked possesively into Uraume’s elbow. If they notice the tightening of your grip, they do not show it.
“If I choose to walk my own grounds,” he glares between you, “I do not require explanation.”
“Then walk them,” you reply. “In front of us.”
His mouth curves at that, despite himself.
“Very well,” he says.
For someone so feared, so accustomed to being in command, it is odd to see Sukuna in this light. It is almost cute, how much he sulks in comfortable company. It even makes him seem human in a way.
He shoves past you, abandoning stealth entirely now that the illusion of subtlety is given up. Uraume speeds up to match his pace, halting momentarily to check that you are following closely behind.
You cross your arms in front of you as you catch up, irritated at your interrupted quality time.
“She was questioning my patrol route,” you hear Uraume clarify to him, as he stares ahead.
“I was questioning your need to patrol at all,” you correct. “Nothing has happened in weeks.”
“Nothing happens,” Uraume replies, making space for you to walk beside them, “because I patrol.”
Sukuna’s expression sharpens with something resembling approval. “You see,” he turns to you. “Competence.”
You roll your eyes, toeing a line the other servants would not dare try. Not like they have the time to, anyway. There are only two he trusts enough to stay in the estate after dark. You, one of them.
“You have grown comfortable,” he adds.
“I live here.”
“That is not what I meant.”
You fold your hands behind your back, attention fully on him. “Then say what you meant.”
“I do not enjoy being excluded,” he says, low.
You laugh then, and the anger that flashes across his face is nothing compared to the flush on his cheeks. The king of curses, pride wounded by something as small as your laughter.
You tilt your head. “You were not excluded.”
“You were speaking with them.”
“I am speaking with you now.”
“That is not the same.”
“I know,” Sukuna snaps, then exhales again, frustrated with himself this time.
“You seemed entertained.” He looks away.
“I was.”
“With my retainer.”
“With Uraume,” you glower, annoyed at his dismissal of their title. The topic in question watches in intrigue, at the events unfolding in front of them.
They must think of you silly, trying to argue with someone so high above you in rank.
You reach the sliding doors of Sukuna’s quarters, Uraume stepping back slightly, the long red robe brushing the polished wood of the hall as he moves toward his chambers. The lamps inside cast a warm glow, wooden floors creaking softly underfoot. You trail behind him, accustomed to the routine.
“From now on,” he says suddenly, breaking the silence, “you are forbidden to leave without me.”
You blink. “Forbidden?”
“Yes.” His jaw tightens. “You will accompany me. Everywhere. You will not leave my side.”
It lands heavier than he intends. He seems to realize.
You stand there, bewildered. “I already do.”
He falters. It is subtle, but you see it.
“You sit in council, I kneel behind you. You inspect the grounds, I follow. You eat, I serve. You rest, I wait outside.” You smooth your sleeve, unimpressed. “Where exactly have I been running off to?”
“You spend an excessive amount of time with Uraume,” he mutters. “You favor their company.”
There it is.
He starts again, and you do not let him finish.
“My lord,” you cut in gently, stepping past him into the room. “It is late. The bath has likely cooled by now. Shall I have it refreshed?”
He stares at your back.
Steam would already be rising in the bathing room if the other servants have done their job properly. Cypress wood, iron cauldron sunk into stone, fresh water carried from the well. You know the order of it.
He exhales through his nose.
“I was speaking,” he says.
“And I am listening,” you reply, swiveling to face him at last. “As I work. Usually how you prefer it.”
His eyes narrow. “You are insolent.”
“And you are jealous.”
Uraume stands near the door, composed, eyes distant. If they have thoughts, they keep them.
Sukuna steps closer until you have to tip your chin up to look at him. He looks formidable in the dim light: torso heavy with embroidery, collar open enough to show the deep scar down his chest.
You study him for a beat, sensing that he has a lot he wants to say. You hope to the gods, to any of them that will listen, that he chooses to withhold them for now.
He seems to detect your fear, or maybe Uraume’s anticipation, because he only says one thing.
“You go where I go.”
“As you wish, my lord,” you nod, “though you may find I am already exactly where you want me.”
He clicks his tongue, turning toward his chambers, expecting you to follow.
You do. Of course you do.
And that, more than anything else, seems to satisfy him. For now, at least.
The bathing room waits beyond a narrow screen door, cedar panels darkened from years of steam. A shallow wooden tub has already been filled; faint wisps of vapor curl up toward the ceiling beams.
Uraume stops at the threshold.
They will remain outside, no matter how much you wish it to be the opposite. You do not have the time to wish and wish and wish. You have work to do.
Sukuna walks to the center of the room and stops.
You step forward to untie the cords at his shoulders.
He could do it himself. He often does when impatient. Tonight he stands still and lets you have at him.
The outer robe loosens first, heavy fabric slipping from his large frame. Beneath it, the layers are simpler, easier to undo. You slide each knot free.
He does not rush you.
When the last layer falls away, he steps out of it and into the bath without ceremony. The water rises around him, heat pulling a satisfied breath from his chest.
There is something strangely intimate in this specific part of the routine.
You are sure that you know his body better than he knows his own. Every ragged scar, every tan line, every point of muscle. Hundreds of years of history mapped out onto skin that looks so much like your own.
“Come here,” he says, gentle.
Without hesitation, you kneel at the edge and dip the cloth into the bath. Steam warms your face. You begin at his shoulders, pressing firmly.
His hand snaps up and catches your wrist.
“That is not what I meant.”
You pause, looking down at where his fingers circle your pulse. “You asked me to come here.”
“Yes. Get in.”
“My lord,” you tread carefully, lowering your voice in weak hope it does not carry beyond the door, “that would be improper.”
“Improper.”
“It is not done,” you continue. “I attend you. I do not share the bath with you. It would be—” you search for the right word, one that doesn’t sound as flustered as you suddenly feel, “—inappropriate.”
His thumb rubs circles onto your palm.
“You have bathed me countless times.”
“That is different.”
“How.”
You swallow. “Because I remain at my place.”
His eyes rake over you, assessing in a way that makes heat creep up your neck. Steam gathers in his hair, dripping water back to where it came from.
“And where,” he asks, “is your place?”
“At your side,” you answer at once.
A faint curve pulls at his mouth. Victory.
“Then obey.”
You wait for him to change his mind. Not because you do not want to oblige. You really do not, mind. However, this crosses a line you have carefully kept intact. Uraume stands outside that door.
You search his face for the familiar shift. The flicker of pride reasserting itself, the command withdrawn under the guise of indifference.
It does not come.
You set aside your robe, then reluctantly lower yourself into the water, keeping a distance at first.
He closes that distance immediately.
Onto his lap in mere seconds, a warm hand splayed at your spine as you become face to face.
You shift slightly, meaning to reach for the towel at the tub’s edge. Your fingers close around the fabric.
“If we are to remain here,” you begin, “at least—”
He takes it from you without warning, sending it sailing across the room with a flick of his wrist. It lands in a damp thud against the far wall.
You stare after it.
“My lord—”
You do not finish.
His mouth finds the curve where your neck meets your shoulder. A slow press first of it, testing, then a few more that linger against wet skin.
The contact steals the words from you.
A warmth unfurls in your stomach, sudden and spreading, a pooling molten sensation that has your fingers curling involuntarily against his forearms.
He hums against your skin, satisfied with the way you stiffen.
The bathwater sloshes around you as Sukuna leans in again, entirely unconcerned with whatever is considered proper. This time on your lips.
Your thoughts scatter.
Instinct wins, eventually. Your fingers tighten in the damp strands of his hair, and you kiss him back.
He exhales against your mouth, a low sound slipping from him that borders on a groan. His grip shifts, one hand sliding up your back, palm broad and warm between your shoulder blades, pressing you closer.
The water moves around you with the motion.
He cups your chest with one of his free hands, and your otherwise smart remark dissolves into a soft exhale you fail to contain.
“There,” he murmurs into your mouth. “That.”
Your face warms. “You are unbearable.”
“And you are warm,” he quips back, nipping at shoulder. “Everywhere.”
“So are you.”
His tongue pushes back into your mouth, claiming, tasting, deepening the kiss until your teeth scrape against his bottom lip in purchase for breath.
The second you bite back, something in him gives.
He pulls you into him hard enough that the water surges against the edge of the tub.
You make the softest, most beautiful sounds he has heard in a hundred years, and he swallows them all.
His hands move with sudden urgency, gripping at your hips and pulling you tighter against him in one decisive motion. The friction gives you immediate relief, and you rock against him in spite of earlier protests.
He is hard against you, rubbing up onto your slit at every push forward of your hips.
At his behest, you stop and sit still, staring dumbly in expectation. Two large hands move beneath the water and settle low at your backside, fingers spreading to take the soft fullness beneath his palms.
You are forced to look down.
Just below the rise of his ribs, the mouth set into his stomach parts slowly, teeth flashing in the lamplight before a tongue drags out, licking a measured line up your thighs and settling at the sensitive peak that makes you jerk forward into him.
Not like you could’ve moved, anyway.
The longer the lower mouth works, the more solid he becomes under you, his length pressing insistently against your inner thigh.
Before you can fully gather yourself, he guides the tip to nudge you at your entrance.
Your legs part wider without conscious thought.
Two hands meet your knees, gently stilling them there. Two more find your hips. He thrusts upwards.
The mouth on his stomach lingers at that aching point, drawing a broken sound from you as your body shifts instinctively, overwhelmed by both sensations.
His tongue below. His mouth at your throat. The steady push of him seating more fully as your resolve yields.
Your legs tremble but remain parted, pliant under his grip. The water sloshes roughly around you, steam clinging to your skin as he starts to move.
A slow roll of his hips, reaching deep. You feel it everywhere at once. The stretch, the fullness. A moan slips out when he holds you in place at the next one.
“There,” he breathes. “Do not hide that from me.”
“You will not turn away from me,” he says quietly near your ear, movements unfaltering. “Not for idle walks. Not for shrine women. Not for anything.”
You can only nod, clawing at his arms.
“You will not abandon me.” he says, tucking his face into your neck as he buries his cock to the hilt, a low groan slipping as he feels you tighten around him.
“Say it,” he mutters.
The mouth at his abdomen does not stop.
“I won’t,” you manage, voice shaking. “I won’t.”
His breathing grows uneven at that. Your moans grow louder, harder to muffle, as his thrusts grow rougher.
“Mine,” he moans into the divots in your neck, nipping at the skin. “You remain with me.”
The tongue below tucks itself past your slit, slipping into where he is pushed inside you, stretching you wider.
“Look at me,” he croaks, voice strained.
You try.
Your vision goes white hot. Your knees clamp around his thighs, the sensation cresting and crashing in waves until you slump against him.
He keeps moving slow, riding out the aftershocks with you, your head on his shoulder. Your fingers rake into his hair, albeit weakly.
“Uraume.”
For a fleeting second you think you misheard him, hands preoccupied. Wishful thinking, maybe.
Strong arms slide beneath you, not his, and you are lifted cleanly from his lap, naked.
Entirely.
In Uraume’s arms.
Your brain tries to assemble a protest, but it is too late. You are cradled securely against them, water dripping from your limbs onto the wooden floor. You instinctively curl inward, an attempt to cover up.
“Careful,” Sukuna says mildly, rising from the bath behind you. “Do not drop her.”
“I will not,” Uraume replies evenly.
Your face burns hotter.
You hide your face briefly against their shoulder, mortified beyond measure.
When you enter Sukuna’s chamber, the futon has already been laid out: thick quilts layered neatly, dark silk sheets folded back in preparation.
Uraume lowers you carefully onto the bedding.
Your limbs feel boneless. You barely manage to gather the fabric up over your hips before Sukuna enters.
He has dressed himself.
That, in any other circumstance, would have held your attention. The under-robe sits straight on his shoulders. The sash is tied correctly. His hair is still damp at the ends, darkened against his neck.
This newfound independence is not the biggest surprise tonight, though.
Uraume steps back, head bowed.
“I will take my leave—”
“Stay.”
You have seen them face warriors without blinking.
But here, instead you see a disruption in their composure. The tiniest of creases between their eyebrows. You would love to kiss it away, if not frozen in shock over their hesitation, in heeding, the subtle questioning of his command.
It comes eventually. “Yes, my lord.”
Sukuna stoops down to you, gaze dragging over your embarrassed form. You notice, that he is still hard.
“Well?”
You realize he is not talking to you, when he glances back at them, impatient. “You have eyes.”
“She is… striking,” they answer, in a tone you are afraid to decipher. “More so than usual.”
Sukuna tips his head at you, smirking.
“More so than usual,” he repeats the words, amused. A huff of a laugh. “You hear that?”
You feel the coil in your belly tighten once more.
“She looks good beneath me,” he adds, almost lazily. “Doesn’t she?”
The question hangs oddly in the air.
Uraume’s composure flickers, slightly. A faint dust of pink flourishes onto their cheeks, so unfamiliar that you notice it almost immediately.
“Yes, my lord.”
Satisfied.
You swallow.
Sukuna stands up, moving to settle himself against one of the carved pillars near the raised platform. An easy sprawl, a knee bent in comfort.
From there, he can see everything.
“You may touch her,” he says.
Uraume stiffens.
It is permission given the way a king might grant access to something precious, like a treasure, confident it cannot be taken, only allowed.
“My lord,” they stare, “how would you have me…”
The question trails off.
Sukuna’s eyes crinkle at the edges, amused.
“Must I instruct you in everything?”
Uraume lowers their gaze.
“I would not presume beyond your intent.”
“You presume nothing,” he scoffs, and it is as reassuring to them as it is alarming to you.
“You will do only what I allow.” he adds.
Uraume nods. “Yes, my lord.”
When they in close, you expect them to reach for the bedding. Instead, a thumb traces lightly along your cheekbone before it withdraws, their composure slipping just enough that you see the color rising once again, at the ends of their ears.
Sukuna exhales through his nose, exasperated.
“Continue.”
Their eyes flick toward him, seeking confirmation, then toward you, lingering on your flushed face.
“You understand,” Sukuna hums, amusement returning. “Do not falter.”
Uraume’s hand moves cautiously at first, tracing the curve of your thigh, lingering closer to the hollow where your body yields to warmth.
For a heartbeat your mind empties of everything else. Even Sukuna’s presence, even the water on your skin.
The next thing you feel is their mouth between your legs.
Your fingers clutch the bedding, knuckles white, and your body arches instinctively.
Sukuna exhales softly from his perch, the sound low and approving. “Do not forget that you are mine.”
You are impossibly sensitive. Every brush, every press, every warm, deliberate drag of their tongue sends shocks through your entire body.
One hand presses lightly to your hip, the other tilts your body just so, guiding you without force, holding you perfectly for the sensations to build.
A soft, deliberate flick with the tip of their tongue, paired with the subtle slide of their hands along the inner curves of your thigh, is enough.
You come apart, the quiet pants from Uraume tipping you over the edge.
Even as you come down from the peak, your body still trembling, you realize that every motion, every whisper, every gaze was Sukuna’s to command.
You let yourself wonder, even for a second, if Uraume would have done all of this if not for it. If not for command, if it was solely up to will.
A blur of faces and conversation surround you as you blink away the stars, and in a few moments you are in new, warm clothes, feeling drier than before.
Your skin still hums with warmth, every nerve awake, every breath shallow, and you realize how delicate the quiet has become after all that noise and motion.
Uraume lingers nearby, hands folded neatly, expression composed but eyes warmer than usual.
Sukuna sprawls out on the futon, robe pulled more tightly on him now, a warm arm snaked around your waist, pulling your back into his chest.
“You look well,” he says, kissing at your neck.
You swallow, heart still racing. “Thank you, my lord,” you murmur, voice small, unsure.
He tilts his head, smirk tugging faintly at his lips. “Do not thank me yet,” he says softly, almost teasing.
“You still belong to me.” he says at your ears.
You glance at Uraume, who meets your eyes briefly before inclining their head in silent affirmation.
It occurs to you in a clear, simple way, what he has been trying to say all this time:
Because he has you, Uraume has you too.
A small, satisfied warmth spreads through you, and for the first time in years, you find that you are exactly where you want to be.
do not under any circumstances copy, repost, or edit my fics. ask permission before translating or taking inspiration.
your voice is barely above a whisper, thin as mist in the quiet of your shared chamber.
there’s no answer—only the faint rustle of silk and the distant hum of the night. you wait a moment longer, listening for the familiar rumble of his voice, but it never comes.
assuming he’s fallen asleep, you push yourself up on your elbows, careful—painfully careful—not to disturb him. the moonlight seeps in through the paper screens, bathing his form in silver.
he looks… beautiful.
it’s strange, almost laughable, how peaceful he seems like this. his hair spills loosely over the pillow, his breathing steady, chest rising and falling in a rhythm you could almost time your heart to. you wonder how the same man the world calls a demon could ever look so serene. so human.
you study him a moment longer, eyes tracing the lines of his face, the faint scar that marks his mouth, the soft curve of his lashes against his cheek. there’s a warmth in your chest—quiet, dangerous warmth—and you think maybe you could stay like this forever.
you don’t notice the shift until it’s too late.
one blink, and you’re no longer hovering above him—you’re pressed flush against his chest, strong arms caging you in with effortless strength. his heartbeat thuds against your ear, deep and slow.
“did i wake you? i’m sorry—”
he cuts you off before you can finish, voice smooth and low. “no need to be sorry.”
his words rumble through you, calm but commanding, and your breath catches.
while part of you mourns losing that perfect view of him—that rare softness only sleep grants— it’s hard to complain when he holds you like this. his skin radiates heat like a living hearth, the scent of his robes mingling with your own.
you relax against him, feeling small, safe, and impossibly loved in a way he’d never admit aloud.
“i thought you were asleep,” you murmur.
a low hum vibrates against your temple. “i was,” he replies, the edge of amusement curling at the end of his words. “until my wife decided to stare holes into me.”
your cheeks burn. “i wasn’t—”
he huffs a quiet laugh, fingers tracing lazy circles at the small of your back. “you were.”
you can hear the smile in his voice even if you can’t see it. his hand stills, then pulls you closer until you’re tucked completely beneath his chin.
“go back to sleep,” he says, softer now.
wrapped in his arms, you drift off to the steady sound of his heartbeat, thinking that even if the world called him a monster, he would always be your warmth in the dark.
Apparently Sukuna enjoys sunny days. He was sitting down on the grass, in front of the mighty temple, with his black kimono falling down his muscled back while his left shoulder was exposed.
He looked so majestic taking a sun bath...so relaxing. As you approach him, silently with your bare foot, he feels your presence.
Sukuna : "Were you staring at me, little lamb? Hum...approach...make me company."
He keeps staring at the running river, admiring the sounds of nature. The wind was flicking his pink hair. He looked less like a monster even if you never saw him in that way.
You sit beside him. Not exactly sitting, more in a kneeling position and you place your butt on your feet. You make sure to keep some distance from him, to not make him upset even if he was in a good mood. You can't never risk it.
Silence was louder than the moving river and the whistling of birds. You also start to appreciate the view in front of you. You were always so busy taking care of the temple that you never truly noticed the beauty surrendering you. He finally speaks again with the most soft voice you ever heard coming from him.
Sukuna : "Looks like you humans don't take time in short lives to admire such scenarios. Why you look so surprised...You thought you would die if you came outside?"
He was right. You were so focused about making everything perfect for him every single day, that you never took the time to think about anything else. Not even your own life.
But it was your choice. You wanted to be his servant. He also needed you somehow, not in a matter of survival or admiration, but your presence slowly started to bring him a deep side that no one in centuries knew existed. A more human side.
Y/n: "I never thought to say this...and forgive me my words my Lord...but...you are way more kind and caring than most humans I have met in my life."
He finally turns his face to look at you and lifts his eyebrow after finishing processing his words and then he smirks and chuckles to himself and shakes his head softly in denial.
Sukuna : "I wonder how many humans you have met to come to such a conclusion. You serve me for a long time and you still choose to fall into naive and pathetic thoughts."
Silence again. More suffocating this time. A stronger wind travels to both of you, your long hair flies and dances into his direction, making it's way to his nostrils, he smells as an instinct, not because he meant to. He can't hide his reaction that he enjoyed your scent but he would never admit.
Sukuna : "You are also the only kind and caring human that stood alive by my side the longer time...for now..."
